


Lex Talionis

by FourCornersHolmes



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Canon Divergence - The Reichenbach Fall, Established Sally Donovan/Irene Adler, Established friendships, F/F, F/M, Implied Relationships, It just kind of happened, Johnlockovan?, Lesbian Irene Adler, Multi, Multiple Pairings, Multiple Partners, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Mycroft Holmes & Sally Donovan Friendship, Mycroft is a Softie, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Sally Donovan & Greg Lestrade Friendship, Sally Donovan & Sherlock Holmes Friendship, Sally Donovan Appreciation, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-10-18 02:57:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17572970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourCornersHolmes/pseuds/FourCornersHolmes
Summary: Sally Donovan. Detective Sergeant with The Metropolitan Police Service. Second-in-command under Greg Lestrade. On-again-off-again mistress of Philip Anderson. Rival of Sherlock Holmes. Sexual deviant? Sally Donovan is far more than she seems, and these are all facets of who she is and what makes her that person.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Danagirl623](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danagirl623/gifts), [Holdt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holdt/gifts).



> You can pretty much blame this on Dana and Holdt, this was more or less their idea and I signed on to write it for them. Dani, Papa, this one's all for you, my loves.  
> ::  
> Borrowed the title from the Latin "Lex Talionis" which, according to dictionary.com is defined as follows: the principle or law of retaliation that a punishment inflicted should correspond in degree and kind to the offense of the wrongdoer, as an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth; retributive justice.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sally Donovan is at the end of a very long, tiring work-day and someone is trying to contact her. Consumed with stacks of paperwork, she ignores the repeated attempts until it's leaving time. On her way out of the office, she runs into Philip Anderson, her ex-boyfriend. She has a bit of an epiphany about things and tears into Anderson for the way he treated Sherlock Holmes and, as a result of his influence, the way Sally herself treated the late disgraced consulting detective. Who, honestly, wasn't that bad at all.

* * *

* * *

Sally Donovan was neck-deep in backlog and cold-case files when her phone beeped. She looked up at the sound, wondering who was trying to reach her. And anyone who wanted to reach her could just as easily knock on her door if they needed something, or call her if they were afield. That was her text-tone, so it couldn’t be for work. Who was trying to reach her, then? Well, they would just have to wait, she was busy.

 

Her phone repeated the text-tone about five minutes later and she sighed. Whoever it was, they clearly wanted to make contact but they weren’t being obnoxious about it. She continued working, knowing better than to try responding to them. If they were really interested in talking to her about whatever business they were on, they would just have to wait a while. She had work that needed doing, any distractions were not currently her first priority. As Sally chipped away at the stack on her desk, her phone went off another three times.

 

Finally, an hour later, she had made all the headway she felt like making for the day. Barring getting called out on a case, which she shouldn’t seeing as Dimmock’s team was on for the next call and she worked with Moriah Gregson, she could go home and put work behind her. It was November, she had served a one-month suspension from work as part of a divisional internal investigation along with every member of Greg Lestrade’s team following the Sherlock Holmes scandal in July. In the three months since she had returned to duty, she had minded her manners, kept herself out of trouble, and had on several occasions attempted to make contact with her former boss. But Lestrade was _still_ on leave four months later, and no one was really expecting him back any time before the New Year.

“Out for the night, Donovan?” The Superintendent caught her at the lifts as she was leaving the building.

“Yes, sir. I’ve done all the damage I care to for the day.”

“Have a good night, Donovan.”

“You, too, sir.” She gave him a stiff smile. “See you tomorrow.” The lift doors opened when it reached their floor and she got on by herself. Pressing the proper floor-indicator, she leaned against the back wall of the lift and let out a slow breath.

 

Sally was hoping for a clean escape, but when the lift stopped before she reached the underground car-park, she knew that wasn’t going to happen and just hoped it wasn’t anyone she knew. That hope was crushed when Philip Anderson got on and Sally trained a neutral expression.

“Going home for the night, Sal?”

“Hello, Mr Anderson.” She said with a calm she didn’t feel. She knew the formality surprised him, but the days of treating him as more than a friend were behind them. The break-up had been her idea and she had maintained a strictly professional relationship with him ever since. When Lestrade had left and the team had been split up after returning from Investigative Suspension, she and Anderson had been assigned to different supervisors. That had been a blessing in disguise and a month later she had broken up with him. He hadn’t taken the split well at all and kept trying to make advances, but Sally wasn’t a complete idiot and she _knew_ she could do better than the impetuous, conceited Forensics Specialist who had long been her romantic partner and her partner in tearing down the arrogant Sherlock Holmes.

 

For a while, she had relished in the smug consultant’s very public humiliation and downfall, basked in a sense of superiority that she and Anderson had been right about him all along. But when it ended with Holmes committing suicide, jumping from the rooftop of Saint Bart’s Hospital while his panicked partner watched from street-level, she realized that things hadn’t been what they seemed. She still didn’t know what had happened that day, didn’t know where everything had gone so wrong, but she often wished she could go back and do something differently. Introspection was a bitch, but this wasn’t the first time these thoughts had occurred to Sally. She just didn’t know what to do about it.

“What’s gotten into you lately, Sally?” Anderson looked bemused by her attitude. “You’ve been like this for _months_ now.”

“I gave you every reason I felt necessary when we broke up, Anderson, I am in no mood to explain myself right now. Especially not to someone like you.” She gave him a hard look. “I am not interested in having anything to do with you outside of work-hour encounters, but so help me if I find you haunting around my office again trying to get a minute of my time. I have nothing to say to you.”

“Is this about Holmes again?” He gave her a familiar look, “Oh, come _on_ , Donovan! You didn’t even _like_ him! You thought he was a pompous, self-absorbed bastard, a _phoney_!” And that did it. Her last thread of patience snapped. As the lift doors opened onto the car-park, Sally stepped out and turned, catching the doors before they closed and also keeping Anderson from following her out.

“Listen here, you ungrateful prick. I knew Sherlock Holmes better than almost anyone around here besides Lestrade! I thought maybe to humble him a little, I was never expecting him to commit suicide and I will never be okay with being part of the slander that got him killed!” She was so fed up with people like Anderson she was practically spitting. “You hated him for reasons of your own, but you forgot something important. Every action has consequences, every _word_ you speak results in an action leading to consequences.”

“What’s that to do with anything?”

“Everything! It’s _everything_ to do with everything that’s happened since April! I ... ” Sally hesitated. “I owe him my badge, my continued career, any stability I’ve found in the past ... Christ, six years? Five years? Ten years? I ... owe Sherlock Holmes better than I gave him. He never deserved to be treated like that, especially not by me.”

“What are you _talking_ about?”

“I owe Sherlock Holmes. So much. He’s ... he is one of the kindest, most genuine people I have ever known. If you find yourself in hard times, he will reach out and help you. If you let him, he can move mountains and work miracles.” Shaking her head, she turned her back on Anderson, who stared at her like she’d grown another head or two.

“Good night, Anderson.”

“Where are you going?”           

“Home. Or the pub, Christ knows I need a drink or six.” She looked over her shoulder. “Sherlock Holmes was a good man. I would have loved a chance to see if he could be a great one.” The lift doors closed before he could say another word, and Sally walked away, heading for her car.

* * *

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sally finally gets around to reading those text messages and gets a bit of a surprise. Good or bad remains to be seen, but this can wait for tomorrow. Right now, Sally needs a drink and a chance to unwind a bit, so it's off to the pub! She may come to regret this decision, but she won't be sorry about making it in the first place.

* * *

* * *

As she reached her car, her phone beeped yet again. Sally got in and took the opportunity to look through her message-logs while her car warmed up. There was quite a few, and while the source -number _looked_ familiar, she didn’t want to get her hopes up.

 

**Message Sent 18.30**

**Hello, Sergeant Donovan. Long time no see, darling. – IA**

**Message Sent 18.35**

**I’ve missed our time together, my dear. How have you been? – IA**

**Message Sent 18.45**

**Have you been a Good Girl? Or have you been a Bad Girl? – IA**

**Message Sent 19.00**

**Are you ignoring me, Sergeant? You know I don’t like to be ignored. – IA**

**Message Sent 19.15**

**Your lack of communication is very vexing, Sergeant Donovan. Are you so busy you can’t be bothered to respond to a text? – IA**

**Message Sent 19.30**

**If you do not initiate a response within the next five minutes, I shall be forced to take extreme measures to ensure your safety, well-being, and whereabouts within the city of London, and do not think to hide from me. – IA**

The messages became more and more ... well, hostile was the wrong word, but they became sterner in tone for certain. Sally quickly tapped out a reply and fired it off.

 

**Text Sent 19.33**

**10-4. 10-10. On my way home now. I am safe. – S**

 

It didn't take long for a reply to come back, not that she had expected it to, and she read it carefully.

 

**Message Sent 19.34**

**Very good. Report to 44 Eaton Square tomorrow evening at 7pm sharp. Do not be late. – IA**

**I will happily speak to your supervisors if need be. – IA**

Sally read the incoming texts and swallowed hard. Was it actually the woman she thought it might be? Instead of inquiring, she sent back another affirmative that her orders had been received and would be promptly followed.

**Message Sent 19.36**

**Understood. I will not be late. – S**

When the message was on its way, Sally got on the road. But she didn’t go home right away. Desperate for a distraction, she drove from The Met to a bar in Soho and found a place to park along Greek Street. Taking a minute to collect herself, she switched off her radio, pulled her keys, and got out. Locking up, she checked for her side-arm and phone before heading across the street to Bateman Street. Once safely on the other side, she looked up and across at the venue. There was already a bit of a queue on the footpath outside of Thirst, but she wasn’t terribly concerned. It was worth a wait. As she made her way to the end of the queue, she studied the patrons waiting to get in. She wasn’t as gifted as Sherlock Holmes, but everything she knew about reading people she had learned from him, and she would “read” for fun when she was in public. It had proven very useful to her work on more than one occasion, so she had to give him credit for teaching her.

 

Sometimes that felt like a completely different lifetime, and she felt bad for the way she often treated him during cases. He really wasn’t _that_ bad, he was just ... a know-it-all with almost no formal training and still managed to solve a case while the rest of them were still trying to determine the motive. He was a better person than people gave him credit for, most of them just didn’t bother to give him enough of a chance to prove himself. But Sally had seen Sherlock at his absolute worst, she had seen him at rock-bottom with no way out and had been the one to throw him a rope, to give him a hand up. She had fed him tidbits of intel when she began working with The Met, trying to keep him out of trouble, and it always frustrated her whenever she found him strung out on a high because she felt like he was just throwing his life away out of boredom. He didn’t have a healthy outlet, and it showed. She helped him get counselling and found rehab programs that had worked for her and she thought would work for him.

 

The wait to get into Thirst wasn’t terrible, she had certainly waited longer, and she went inside and looked for somewhere to sit after paying her cover-charge. The downstairs bar was a bit too crowded for her liking but there were a couple of empty seats upstairs on the main floor, so she ordered a Gin Fizz and found a place to sit. She also did a bit more people-watching and spotted a few familiar faces at a corner table. Sally looked away quickly and took a deep breath before she took a sip of her drink. Oh, Christ.

 

Whatever business had John Watson and Greg Lestrade at the bar tonight, it didn’t look like they were out looking for a good time. It was the first time in  _months_ she had seen either man in public and she had to admit that she had seen both men in various states of disarray, but she couldn't think of any time in the recent months when she had seen either of them look so ... distraught. Not even the divorce had taken such a toll on Lestrade. And she hadn’t seen Watson so miserable since a similar encounter back in 2009 just shortly after he had returned to London after discharge from the Army.

 

Confident they hadn’t seen her, Sally nursed her drink and contemplated the way her life had turned out. The things she had accomplished and some she would rather change if she could. People she had met and kept as friends and acquaintances, some she had inadvertently alienated. When her first drink was gone, she set it aside and went back to the bar for another round.

“Round 2, Sergeant?” the bartender smiled when her turn came up.

“Hey, Tom.” She sighed and looked over her shoulder. “Yeah, I guess it’s time for Round 2.”

“You’re not drinking by yourself tonight, are you?” That got an eyebrow. She snorted. So what if she was?

“Who the fuck is going to mess with someone like me tonight, Tom?” She rolled her eyes, “Besides the fact that every inch of me is screaming “stay away” and half the people on this floor know me by first name, wouldn’t try me sober never mind drunk off their sorry arses?”

“Well, when you put it that way.” Tom Bencher smiled and wiped down the bartop, “So, what’ll it be?”

“I’ll take another Gin Fizz, Tom, ta. And, er, can I buy a round for that table?” She pointed to where Lestrade and Watson had hunkered down.

“Oh, sure! Anything particular you had in mind?” Tom just set up for her order with practised, easy motions.

“Uh, two Tom Collins. And, um, don’t ... don’t let them know I’m the one who bought the round for them?”

“Any reason why not?”

“Anonymous gesture of kindness?” She gave him a rueful grin. He just chuckled and finished her drink.

“No problem. A couple of blokes down on their luck?”

“That’s ... one word for it.” She sighed, “Just add that to my bar-tab, Tom. Ta.”

“No problem, Sergeant.” Tom pushed the glass into her hand. “You just stay out of trouble tonight, missy.”

“I make no promises, Tom, but if there _is_ any trouble, I won’t be starting it but God help me I’ll be happy to finish it.”                            

“That’s my girl. Go on, you.” He got busy fixing up the round she’d bought for Watson and Lestrade and waved her off.

 

Returning to her seat, Sally kept an eye on that corner table. She watched as a server delivered the drinks to the table and knew when Lestrade asked what they were for, who had bought them. With orders to maintain her anonymity, the server just said that one of the other patrons had seen them and decided to buy them a round of drinks. Sally turned away as the server left the table, but kept watch out of the corner of her eye as watson took a cautious sip. Lestrade took a sip of his own and she watched his eyebrows climb when he recognized the drink by its taste.

“Is this a Tom Collins? Christ, I haven’t had one of these in … six months?” Watson told him to just shut up and drink ­– free booze was free booze – and at the moment there didn’t seem to be enough in the city to drown in, did it really matter what drink it was or who it was from? Jesus, was it really _that_ bad? Worse than she’d thought, and she felt terrible for having any part in the trouble they had found themselves in. She owed them better than that, but she had no idea how to even start making amends. Buying them a round at the bar seemed a fair start.

* * *

* * *

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sally's night out gets a little more interesting. All's well that ends well, however, and she gets a boost from an unexpected quarter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did NOT mean for Mycroft Holmes to come in and take over this chapter, but he kind of forced his way into the situation. I'm kind of glad he did, I think it's important for Sally to have people she can just...talk to. Even if she doesn't talk much at all.

* * *

* * *

For a while, it was quiet as Sally watched the ebb and shift of the crowd, keeping her focus split to the corner table. She never approached, never made contact, she simply watched from a neutral distance and made sure they kept themselves out of trouble. Although, anyone who thought it was a good idea to take a retired veteran and a street-wise DI for easy targets would be in for a delightfully rude awakening. She had seen John take out people easily double his size in the course of a foot-chase for The Met, had handed over  _her_ handcuffs when he asked for a set to get the grounded suspect immobilized so they couldn’t cause any trouble or try to make a run for it. It was always fun to watch the moment of realization hit the suspects that they had been taken to ground and handcuffed by the unassuming little man taking notes behind the detectives with a look of absolute awe on his face. She knew better than to underestimate John Watson, but it was always fun to watch someone else make that mistake and then pay for it later. 

 

After a while, she was aware of John excusing himself to the gents and sighed. She was just shy of being out of earshot and turned her head to track his progress through the small upstairs crowd on his way to the loos. Losing sight of him, Sally sighed and turned back to her drink. She was startled out of a moment of reflection by a glass being set down in front of her, someone sitting next to her.

“Next time, don’t pick something that obvious for a paid round.”

“Greg!” She looked over sharply, startled, “What … ?”

“Don’t.” Her boss shook his head sharply. “Just … don’t.”

“Sorry.” She picked up the drink he’d given her, looking at it for a minute before taking a sip. A Tom Collins. The irony of that choice was not lost on her and she chuckled.

“Y’know, if John had _any_ idea you were the one who bought that round for us.”

“I know.” She took a deep breath and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “I’m sorry, Greg, really.”

“You didn’t seem sorry four bloody months ago. A little late for that, don’t you think?” He turned and looked at her head-on. “I thought you were better than that, better than letting a petty feud get the better of your sense of honour.” And there it was.

“I didn’t think ... ”

“No, you _didn’t_ think. You reacted.”His voice was harsh, hostile. “You’ve always hated Sherlock, I never knew why or bothered to dig much deeper because I wasn’t sure I _wanted_ to know why, but what you did to him, Donovan, that ... ”Greg shook his head and swallowed the contents of his drink in a few gulps as if to burn away the memory.

“I never hated him. Never.” She said quietly. “I _never_ hated Sherlock Holmes.”

“Well, you sure as hell did a fantastic job convincing everyone otherwise, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t ... ” Sally took a deep breath and tightened her fingers around her glass. Christ she didn’t want to tell him this in a public place. Not when John could walk back in on them at any moment. Greg was tactful, subtle even, about his displeasure, and she knew damn well that John could be just as quiet in his anger. It was that quiet anger that Sally feared and respected, that she had learned to be conscious of years ago. She knew the signs, what characteristics to look for, how to handle it.

“Didn’t what?”

“I didn’t hate Sherlock for the reasons you think I did.”

“Well, as much as I would love to hear your reason for the way you treated him for as long as you knew each other.” Greg set his empty glass down. “You owe me an explanation, Sergeant Donovan. And you owe me the fucking _truth_.”

“Yes, sir. I understand.” She sighed. “Good night, sir.”

“Good night, Donovan.” He was on his feet and gone in no time. Sally finished her drink and went to the bar to pay her tab. It was well past time to go home, she might as well get going while the getting was good.

 

As she left, she shot a glance at the corner table and just nodded to herself when she saw John and Greg with their heads together. Once on the street, Sally looked around. Crossing the street once some traffic had cleared, she went back to her car. She wasn’t drunk-drunk, but she didn’t quite feel like driving herself anywhere.

“Can I offer you a ride somewhere, Sergeant Donovan?” A voice to her left startled her and Sally looked over. She knew that voice.

“Mr Holmes.” She turned to face Sherlock’s elder brother, whom she knew as well or better than she knew Sherlock himself.

“Oh, none of that, Sally.” Mycroft Holmes was prim and dapper in his standard bespoke three-piece suit and an overcoat and scarf for the weather, his deployed brolly in one hand, but he was smiling.

“Mycroft.” She might be forgiven for a bit of relief.

“Well?”

“If you’re offering, yes, absolutely. Please. Thank you.”

“Keys?”

“Here.” She hastily surrendered her keys. “You know what to do with those.”

“Of course I do.” He just turned and passed them off to a hovering aide, who slipped past them to get into Sally’s car. Before the car disappeared, the aide retrieved and returned Sally’s work-bag and radio.

“Sergeant?”

“Thank you.” She didn’t know the aide’s name, but that didn’t matter.

“Sally.” Mycroft had the door of his car open. It wasn’t the imposing sedan he usually drove, it was a personal car. A very _nice_ personal car.

“Oh my god. You _own_ one of these?” She knew the car was a Rolls Royce, and that it was a fairly modern model, but she couldn’t have said which one specifically. She wasn’t very car-savvy, despite her fondness for luxury cars and her search-histories packed with visits to websites to look at cars just like the well-kept black beauty sitting by the kerb behind her squad-car.

“Yes, more than one, in fact.” A bit of a flush, as if he was embarrassed by that fact. “After you, Sergeant.”

“Thank you.” She ducked into the car after depositing her work-bag in the back seat and sighed as she realized that the seats were vented. Oh that was just lovely, wasn’t it? Well, this sure beat driving home in _her_ car or even in a cab. Mycroft was quick to get in behind the wheel and get them underway.

“So, where can I take you?”

“Um, just ... home, please. Just take me home.” She buckled up, knowing he would be on her about it otherwise, and quietly reached over to give his harness a quick tug near the buckle. It was secure. She nodded and leaned back as they joined traffic, not missing the small smile that quirked the corners of his mouth. Sally knew without having to ask that this car was possessed of more security measures and modifications than most privately-owned civilian vehicles on the road, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be stingy about his seat-belt etiquette.

“Long day at the office, Sally?” He asked after a while.

“Not _nearly_ as long as yours was.” She leaned her head back. “Any international crises to manage?”

“Mm, one or two small fires to put out but nothing that should lose me more than one or two nights of sleep.” That got her a casual shrug and she snickered.

“I guess that means you haven’t been plotting different methods of doing away with the PM, then?” Sally couldn’t help it. The dirty look she got for that jab was very much worth it and she chuckled.

“Oh, come on, Mycroft! You don’t like him any more than we do!”

“Just because I dislike the sitting Prime Minister does not mean I wish him ill or bodily harm.”

“Except that you _do_.”

“Sally, have you no sense of decorum?”

“Not after a day like mine, ta!” She looked out the window. “Y’know, I think you’re probably the _only_ person in this whole fucking city who isn’t upset with me tonight?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Oh, I ... saw Greg and John at the bar.”

“Did they confront you?” Mycroft frowned, clearly concerned.

“No, no. Well, I mean. _John_ didn’t. But, um, Greg ... he ... ” She trailed off with a vague hand-motion.

“He hasn’t forgiven you.”

“No. Not that I expected him to, it’s only been four months.”

“Does he know about your more intimate history with Sherlock?” Hazel-grey eyes narrowed as Mycroft processed the facts both spoken and withheld. “The true reason you were so ... frustrated with my brother throughout your professional relationship with each other?”

“I don’t think he does, sir. But I’m not sure if that would make things any better or worse, to be honest with you.” Sally thought back to the last thing Greg had actually said to her before they parted ways: “You owe me an explanation, Sergeant Donovan. And you owe me the fucking _truth_.”

“No, I don’t think he does know. I’m certain of it.”

“What makes you so certain?”

“He told me that I owe him an explanation and that I owed him the truth.”

“I suppose you do.” Mycroft nodded, making another turn on their route to Sally’s place. “Are you going to tell him the truth?”

“Yes. I owe it to him, and to Sherlock.”

“Will you tell him the truth? All of it?”

“I’ll try my best.” She said quietly.

“I suspect the personal history between you and John may have contributed quite a bit towards _his_ bad temper on the matter. Does Greg know about that?”

“I’m not sure. It’s not like I ever really made it _obvious_ that I was familiar with either of them beyond a casual acquaintanceship. For all anyone at The Met knows, I only know your brother as the fast-talking junkie who solves crimes faster than anyone else with two pieces of evidence and a few rock-solid theories that usually turn out to be correct, and I only know John Watson because of your brother. They don’t know that I met Sherlock in rehab, that I got him _into_ rehab more than once when no one else could, that ... ”

“They don’t know that the real reason you got so mad at him whenever you dragged him out of a drug-den was because you hated seeing him throw himself away because of boredom.” Mycroft’s voice was soft with understanding, but not pity. “You hated that even high off his rocker, my brother was still the smartest man in the room and he was also right about whatever he was rambling on about.”

“Exactly.” She sighed. “And no one knows that I knew John Watson when he was much younger, when he wasn’t so ... broken, so bitter, so ... ”

“So hateful.”

“Spiteful is the word I was looking for, but hateful works, too.” Sally shook her head. “Jesus, Mycroft, I wish you had known John in those days. He was so young, so driven, so _focused_. He knew what he wanted, and he would do whatever it took to get there! And then, he ... ”

“He got shot while tending to one of his men and his whole world crumbled.” Mycroft finished her thought for her. “How long did it take you to find him after he returned to London?”

“Oh, not that long. I kind of just tripped over him one night at the pub, I was with Greg and the rest of the team for Pub Night and I bump into this drunk civilian who wasn’t quite watching himself.”

“Did he recognize you?”

“Absolutely. He was about as surprised to see me as I was to see him, I think. But I sat him down and we talked for a bit before I paid his tab and got him a cab back to his place. I should have driven him home that night, but I didn’t.”

“What did Lestrade say when you finally got back to your group?”

“Oh, he ragged on me about falling in or something stupid and I just said that I’d run into an old friend of mine and stuck around to play a bit of catch-up.” She smiled as the Rolls slowed. “Then he told me I should’ve brought them along, fresh blood is always welcome in our circle, but I said no, maybe next time.”

“And starting with “next time”, John was present at every single Pub Night with very few exceptions.” Mycroft set the brakes and looked over at her. “Do not ever doubt yourself, Sally Donovan. Enough people will be happy to do it on your behalf.”

“Easier said than done, Mycroft.” She undid her harness and reached around to get her work-bag. Mycroft got out and came around, opening the door for her.

“Come, let me see you to your door.” He said, casing the street as she climbed out of the Rolls.

“Thanks, Mycroft.” She looped the strap over one shoulder and across her chest.

“So, um, what is this?” Asked as she touched the black paint with hesitant fingers.

“This is a Silver Seraph. One of a small collection of personal cars I drive when I don’t feel the need to employ my chauffeur.”

“I would ask where your guard-detail is, but I think I know.” Sally smiled as she let Mycroft hold the door to the lobby for her after keying the door open. Just across from her apartment building she had spotted two of the subtle but imposing black cars that she knew usually carried a four-man security-detail. Her car had been parked just behind Mycroft’s, and the aide who had driven it home gave him the keys, which he smoothly handed back to Sally.

“Good night, Sawyer.”

“Good night, sir.” The aide saluted and crossed the street to the waiting cars, getting into the second car, which departed as soon as the door had closed.

“Sally.”

“Coming.” She followed Mycroft across the lobby, waving to the night manager.

 

When they got to her apartment on the fourth floor, she let him open her door for her. As a matter of habit, he insisted on clearing her apartment, despite the fact that the only living thing _in_ her apartment until they showed up was Sally’s cat, Selina Kyle. Who came right out the minute she heard their footsteps and voices. Or rather, the minute she heard _Mycroft’s_ footsteps and voice. Sally chuckled as the longhair Tuxedo chirped and warbled as she wound between Mycroft’s feet, getting up on her hind legs to rub against his trousers. Sally just closed her door as Mycroft reached down and scooped Selina into his arms.

“Hello, dear. Oh, I know, you’ve been so terribly neglected.” He cooed, rubbing her fur soothingly as he carried her to the kitchen. “You poor thing, you must be absolutely starving.” It was kind of funny to see someone as stern and proper as Mycroft Holmes turn into a complete softie for a cat.

“You’re going to spoil her rotten, you know, treating her like that.”

“I don’t mind!” Mycroft just beamed at her as he set about seeing to Selina’s needs and then making sure Sally had something to eat so she wouldn’t starve herself.

“You don’t have to cook for me, Mycroft, I can take care of myself, you know.”

“Yes, I know. I don’t do this because you are incapable, I do this because I like to.” He just gave her _that_ look and Sally wondered.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” She shrugged and set her work-bag on the couch for later as she headed for the bedroom.

 

While she took a quick shower, Mycroft did a bit of housekeeping. He always did when he was at hers for more than a minute. It was just what he did, she never asked or insisted, he just simply ... helped out. And really, Sally appreciated it. Mycroft had been a friend of hers for as long as she’d known Sherlock, and there were only one or two times she had resented him. He always apologized for overstepping or wrongly assuming, but she always forgave him. When she emerged fifteen minutes later in pyjama bottoms and a faded regimental tee-shirt, he was ready for her with a plate of something that smelled amazing.

“How did you ... ?” She took the offered plate in shock. “Fifteen minutes!”

“My little secret, my dear.” He just smiled and ushered her towards the table.

“What _is_ it? It smells amazing!”

“Pasta carbonara with a white-wine sauce and shallots.”

“Jesus, how many people know you cook gourmet, Mycroft?”

“Very few. It’s a passion I rarely indulge in or share knowledge of.” He sat down across from her after setting a glass of wine at her place. “You know what my brother said about me.”

“To everyone else _but_ me because he knew I knew better.” She took a bite and quietly muttered about secret gourmet chefs taking over the world one government position at a time. It was quiet as they shared a meal, conversation was kept neutral. Sally didn’t say anything when he managed the wash-up and made tea. It was a pretty decent way to end a long, stressful day, and she wouldn’t complain too loudly.

 

When Mycroft finally did take his leave, he gave Sally his business-card. She had several copies of it collected over the years, but it was always nice to have another one.

“If you need _anything_ , Sally. Please do not hesitate to reach out to me.”

“Thank you, Mycroft.” She looked at the very simple card, a name and phone-number she had long ago memorized. “Good night.”

“Good night, dear. Sleep well.”

“You, too, if you get five minutes.” She took the hug, the kiss on the cheek.

“I make no promises.”

“All I ask is that you try. I think the world can manage itself for a few minutes to let you get some sleep.” She rolled her eyes.

“You would like to think so.”

“And yet we both know better than to hope.” She held the door of her flat for him. “Safe driving, Mycroft. See you later?”

“Perhaps sooner, dear. Have a good day tomorrow.”

“I solve crime for a living, having a good day is relative,” Sally said with a smile. That got a chuckle out of Mycroft, who waved as he set off on his way. She watched until he was out of sight and then closed her door, locking up for the night. Reaching down, she picked up Selina and settled the cat against her shoulder.

“Alright, you, time for sleeping. Let’s go.” She headed for her bedroom and shut down the lights as she made her way through her flat. Sleep, for once, came rather easily, and Sally took it for a blessing in disguise.

* * *

* * *

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another day on the job, another case, another scene, and things aren't really getting much better for Sally.

* * *

* * *

Of course, Sally knew better than to think she would get a full night’s sleep, so when her phone went off around 4 am, she was up and on the move in the time it took the dispatcher to explain the situation.

“I’m on my way now, I’ll be there in fifteen.” She said before hanging up with Dispatch. Sally grabbed her keys, double-checked for her radio, badge, and gun, and apologized to a sleepy, disgruntled Selina Kyle for the commotion. She got an annoyed “mrrp” out of her pet as she left and knew her pillow would be claimed as collateral. Shaking her head, Sally headed out.

 

Getting to street-level, she headed for her car but stopped as a black car pulled up alongside the kerb.

“Oh, you _have_ to be joking.” She groaned and looked ruefully at her car. Well, fine. The driver popped out of the government car and held the door for her.

“Sergeant Donovan.”

“Uh, ta.” She sighed and ducked to look inside, hoping to God she wouldn’t see Mycroft.

“Oh no. Not you, too?” She handed her keys to the driver as she got in and sat across from Mycroft, who was already consumed with something of great importance, going by the wrinkle between his eyes.

“Good morning, Sally.”

“What now?”

“A spot of trouble in South America.”

“I can’t begin to imagine what’s happened this time.” She shook her head and looked at her watch. “Can you tell me where?”

“Belize. I may be leaving the country for a few days.”

“Well, when you leave, let me know and _please_ be careful.” She shook her head and looked at her watch. “Will Anthea be going with you?”

“Yes, she will.”

“Good.” The idea of Mycroft leaving the country to handle whatever unrest had arisen in South America did not sit well with Sally, but she couldn’t very well forbid him do his job.

“Um, Lamont Road, please. Just look for the lights.” The change of subject just got a smirk from Mycroft, who reached back and knocked on the divider. It wasn’t long before they were underway and it got quiet between them. Without another word, Mycroft held something out to her. A travel mug, hot to touch. Coffee? She flicked the lid open and sniffed curiously. Oh, yes, and not _just_ coffee. Better than anything she would find at a coffee-shop and certainly better than whatever was available in the break-room at the office. Sally just smiled as she took a grateful, long sip of the hot brew. A ride home, transport of her car both last night _and_ this morning, a home-cooked dinner, a ride to work, and hot coffee to get her day started? Oh, _and_ a biscuit! Christ, he was good to her.

 

By the time they got to the crime-scene, Sally was far more awake and in a relatively good mood. It remained to be seen how long that good mood lasted, after all, she had been called out of bed for a murder. Thanking Mycroft for the ride and for breakfast, Sally got out of the car, nodded to the driver, and held the line for _her_ car. The aide who had driven it surrendered her keys after parking, Sally recognized him from last night.

“Thank you, Sawyer.” She took her keys with a friendly smile as she let Sawyer under the tape again.

“Good morning, Sergeant Donovan.”

“Are you my driver, then?” She had to ask. The young man just blushed. He didn’t say anything else, but she knew the answer.

“Have a good day, ma’am.”

“You, too, Sawyer.” She watched Sawyer get into the front seat of the government car and until it was out of sight around the corner.

“Sergeant Donovan?” A hovering constable spoke up hesitantly.

“Yeah.” Sally turned to the matter at hand. She had work to do. “Where are we, then?”

“Er, up there, ma’am.” The constable pointed the way for her. “The Inspector’s already here, ma’am.”

“I’ll bet.” Sally looked around and tugged on the collar of her coat. She caught herself turning the collar up the way Sherlock always had and smiled ruefully, shaking her head.

 

When she got to the house in question, she was significantly surprised to see Anderson, of all people. So much for her good mood lasting long.

“Oh, no.” She sighed. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“They called me, why else would I be here?”

“To irritate me?” She gave him a look and moved past him.

“So, what, are you slumming with the Freak’s brother? Doing him little favours?” A sneer. “Begging for scraps at the tables of high-class blokes? Too good for the rest of us now?”

“Get out of my way, Anderson, I have nothing to say to you.”

“What is your problem, Sally?” He asked, trying to sound insulted. Between the early hour and having to put up with him before eight in the morning, Sally was in no mood for Anderson’s attitude. Clenching her teeth, she turned on him so fast he was forced to take a step backwards.

“You want to know what my problem is, Anderson? Fine! _You_! You are my problem!” She snarled, getting into his personal space. “I did not wake up at four in the fucking morning on a Thursday because I thought it might be fun! I came because it’s my _job_ to come, I came because they _called_ me! I did not come down here just to have to put up with your dense, ignorant arse.”

“What?” He blinked a bit stupidly. “What are you talking ab–” Sally hated nothing more than having to repeat herself, she’d gotten that from Sherlock, and wasted no time cutting him off at the pass.

“Listen carefully, I will only say this once more. We. Are. Not. Speaking. Not now, not. Ever.” She jabbed a finger at his chest in emphasis, “And I swear if you ever bother me again, speak to me, share my personal space, or try to make contact otherwise, I will make sure they never, _ever_ find your body.”

“Donovan! Anderson! Get to work!” A sharp reprimand startled them and Sally stepped back from Anderson. “I have better things to do than spend my first day back on the job dealing with the two of you!”

“Not to mention that hangover,” Anderson muttered, not quietly enough. Sally kept her mouth shut, she was already in enough trouble with Greg. She had watched him for most of last night, she wasn’t sure he’d had enough to drink to warrant a hangover, but he was definitely in a very bad mood. Sally took a careful sip of her coffee as Greg turned to Anderson, his expression almost murderous.

“Donovan, get back to the line. Hold things down from there.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And if you see Watson, let him through.”

“Yes, sir.” She just nodded and held out her coffee. It was still hot and plenty left to give a bit of a pick-me-up. “Here, sir, I think you need this more than I do.”

“Oh.” He turned and took the offered travel-mug, mildly confused. “Thank you, Donovan.”

“Sir. Radio if you need anything.”

“Right. Get on.” He just nodded and as she headed for the line, turned back to Anderson. She wasn’t quite out of earshot when he started tearing into Anderson.

“I don’t know what kind of shit you’re trying to pull, Anderson, but so God help me your arse is mine if I catch you treating _anyone_ on my team that way again!” A few nearby personnel were trying to look uninterested in the dressing-down taking place, others were wisely getting themselves out of the line of fire.

“Now go do your fucking job and do _not_ lose me mine, or your arse and your badge are _both_ mine, and you’ll be scrubbing public toilets for the rest of your miserable, short, existence.” Greg's voice was practically a snarl and Sally stuck around long enough to watch Anderson disappear into the house with his tail between his legs. She was lost in a cluster of personnel by the time Greg looked for her, and she spent the next few hours monitoring the radios and keeping an eye on the scene. The less attention she drew to herself right now, the better. Word would get around fast enough that Greg was not only back on the job but in an extremely foul mood, the best thing to do was keep a low profile and do as she was told. 

* * *

* * *

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sally keeps her appointment with Miss Adler. But before she leaves the office, she has a short chit-chat with her boss.

* * *

* * *

Sally spent the rest of the day filing reports, interviewing suspects and family members for the murder she had worked that morning as well as existing cases in progress, got some paperwork out of the way, and pretty much kept to herself. She worked until 6:45, at which time she collected her gear and clocked out.

“Going somewhere, Donovan?” Greg was the one who caught her with a foot out the door. She sighed and looked at her boss.

“Yeah. Got a late appointment I need to keep, sir.”

“Hmm. I’d say enjoy yourself.” His eyes narrowed. “See you tomorrow, then?”

“Yes, sir. Absolutely.” Sally turned as the lift doors opened. “Good night, sir.”

“Oh, and Donovan?”

“Yes, sir?” She stepped into the lift and selected her destination-floor.

“You let me know if Anderson tries any funny business. Stay far away from him.”

“No problem, sir. We broke up three months ago and he hasn’t left me alone.”

“Your idea?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Can’t take a hint, can he?”

“No, sir, he can’t. I’ll fill you in on the full details another time, sir?”

“Absolutely. You already owe me one story, I can’t imagine how this one could be any worse.”

“Oh, it’s worse, sir. Trust me.” Sally shook her head as he let go of the door, “Sherlock and I, that’s…irritation due to lack of motivation and resources. Anderson, that’s desperation, spite, and…blame-laying.”

“Blame-laying?”

“I’ll tell you another time, sir.”

“Please, do. Good night, Donovan.” She didn’t miss the thoughtful gleam in Greg’s eyes and suspected her boss might just do a bit of his own digging. Whatever it took, whatever he wanted to know, it was his for having. Sally would much rather be on friendly terms with Greg again, and honesty on her part was absolutely necessary to make any progress on that front.

 

Getting to the car-park, Sally retrieved her car and got underway. She knew exactly where she was going, and knew she should have felt bad about using, or abusing, her privileges by making use of her blues-and-twos, running lights only as she came upon Eaton Square Gardens. She had come to this address many times in the past, but in the recent past had never gone to the door. This time was different, this time ... well, she was going to go up and knock on that door. She could see lights on in the house, the first time in months she had seen any sign of life. Taking a minute to collect herself, she switched off her radio, stashed it in her glove-box, pulled her keys, and got out. Locking up, she checked for her side-arm and looked up at the house. Being as foolish as hopeful, she crossed the footpath and mounted the steps. Approaching the door, she hesitated just a split second before she sounded the bell.

 _“Who is it?”_ A tinny woman’s voice came out of the speaker.

“Er, I’m ... I’d like to speak to Miss Adler?”

_“Do you have an appointment?”_

“Er, yes? I mean, I ... think so?”As far as she or anyone in London knew, Irene Adler was dead, why on earth would she have an appointment?! But she did, didn’t she? At least, she had a time and a location to report to. Did that count?

_“What’s your name?”_

“Donovan. Sarah Donovan?”

 _“Just  a moment, please.”_ There was a click and Sally hoped to Christ she wouldn’t be turned away. Not a minute later, the locks on the door turned and the door opened from inside. A very pretty woman with dark hair and fair skin looked out at her and when she saw Sally, raised an eyebrow.

“Well, well. Sergeant Sally Donovan.”

“Hello, Kate.”

“You’ve some nerve showing up around here like this, Sergeant.”

“I know, I’m ... sorry. But ... ”

“Well, you might as well come in. You’re already here.”

“Thank you.” Sally heaved a sigh of relief and stepped into the house, looking around as she did so. It didn’t look at all different from the last time she had been here, which should have been comforting but was really just a little concerning.

“May I take your coat and side-arm, Sergeant?” Kate was at her side after locking the door, and Sally quietly surrendered the requested items. She felt naked, vulnerable without her side-arm or badge, but that was just precisely the point. She wasn’t in charge here, she never had been.

“Upstairs, Sergeant. First door on the left, loo’s at the end of the hall.” Kate directed her up the stairs and waited until she began her climb. Sally mounted the steps slowly, deliberately, carefully.

“Is ... she here, Kate?” She asked, stopping on one riser to look over her shoulder.

“Yes, and she is rather put out with your lack of communication.”

“I was at work, I was _busy_.”

“That never stopped you from responding to a text in a timely fashion before now, did it?” Kate just raised an eyebrow. Sally flushed with shame. She was right, though. Any prior communications from Irene Adler had been responded to quite promptly and enthusiastically, and Sally couldn’t really think of a _good_ reason for her lack of contact or timely response yesterday.

“I don’t suppose saying I’m sorry would help anything, would it?”

“It _might_ , but you had better be prepared to grovel. It’s not very often Miss Adler is as fond of clients as she is of you.” Kate just made a dismissive gesture and Sally gathered her courage as she mounted the stairs to the first floor. When she reached the top, she stopped in the loo and took care of business before knocking on the door of the first bedroom.

“Come in.” That familiar voice held the promised discipline Sally had come here for and if she felt a stirring in her gut, who could blame her? Sally took a deep breath and pushed the door open, stepping into the room beyond with a calm she didn’t quite feel. She was a Police Sergeant, a Detective Sergeant besides, this should not frighten her or make her nervous.

“Close the door, dear Sergeant. Make sure you lock it behind you.”

“Yes, Madame.” Sally did as instructed on instinct, an instinct she hadn’t acted on in what felt like years.

“Remove your shoes, and then undress. You have cleaned yourself?”

“Yes, Madame,” Sally said quietly, keeping her gaze averted. Toeing off her shoes, she unbuttoned her blouse and carefully removed her clothes one piece at a time, folding each and setting it aside. Once she had done that, she was given a final order, at least for this moment.

“Now, kneel. Here. And do not move or speak again until I say you may do so.”

“Yes, Madame.” Sally made her way to the indicated spot and went to her knees. It was so demeaning, but there was something … comforting and familiar about it. She was aware of Madame approaching, the precise click of her heels against the sanded and polished hardwood heralding her advance.

“You are allowed to speak your safe-word, otherwise you will nod to answer “yes” and snap to answer “no” to any question I will ask you.” A hand across her shoulders, just a brief touch. “And they will be simple yes/no questions, I will not test you like that today.” Sally couldn’t help a shudder or the muffled whine that escaped her throat. Madame wouldn’t punish her for this, she hadn’t spoken. Words spoken out of turn got punishment, sounds of pleasure or distress did not.

“Now, I am going to ask you a very precise question and you will give me an honest answer.” Sally nodded to show her understanding, despite her uncertainty that any answer would satisfy Madame. After all, she _had_ ignored no fewer than six text-messages out of obligation to her work. She had never ignored that many attempts to make contact before.

“Very well.” She felt familiar fingers in her hair. “Were you ignoring my text messages out of deliberate insubordination?” Sally quickly snapped. No, it had nothing to do with insubordination. It was ignorance.

“Were you ignoring my text messages out of oversight?” A nod. Yes, oversight and ignorance.

“You didn’t know I was the one texting you, did you, Sergeant?” A snap.

“Hmm. The fault is with both of us, my dear.” Sally remained still. She was just as much at fault as Madame was, but admitting that, either to herself or out loud, was hard to do.

“Do you feel you need to be punished?” Nod.

“Do you feel guilty about things?” Nod.

“Do you wish to talk about these things?” Nod.

“Hmm. Very well.” Madame tipped her head back with two fingers under her chin. “Open your eyes, Sergeant. Look at me.” Oh, how she wanted to disobey, keep her eyes shut, but Sally knew better. So, she followed orders and looked up to meet familiar grey-green eyes.

“What happened, dear? You may speak now.”

“I am so sorry, Madame. If I had known you were trying to reach me, I might not have ... I wouldn’t ... ”

“Stop.” It was softly spoken, and Sally fell quiet. “It’s been hard for you, hasn’t it?” Sally just nodded.

“Talk to me.”

“Where do I start, Madame?”

“Just talk to me, Sergeant. You clearly have reasons for your behaviour and I am very curious to know of them. Have you taken care of yourself?”

“N-no, Madame. Not the way I should have. But, Mycroft Holmes does look after me, Madame. He ... takes care of me?” Why did that sound like a question? Why had she turned that into a question?

“Does he discipline you?”

“No, Madame.” She answered too quickly.

“Sergeant, does Mister Holmes _discipline_ you?” Carefully manicured fingers tightened in her hair.

“Yes, Madame. Yes, he does.”

“I see.”

“I am very sorry, Madame.”

“I never told you that we were exclusive, Sergeant. You have every right to seek out another’s services if I am incapable of providing for you, I will not punish you for that.” Madame’s grip gentled a bit. “Now, I _am_ curious to know why you sought Mister Holmes. I was not aware that you were familiar enough with him to consider even asking him for such a thing?”

“Oh, no, Madame. I’ve known Mister Holmes for ... years! Years and years!” She looked up, hating that she could feel the tears in her eyes. “I was ... _friends_ with his brother, with Sherlock, first. But he has always treated me well, taken care of me. Looked after me.”

“You were friends with Sherlock Holmes?” An eyebrow twitched.

“Yes, Madame.”

“That’s very interesting. Tell me.”

“We, er ... well ... you know about my history? Why I ... came to you?”

“Yes.”

“I met Sherlock in rehab, and we made a promise. We would stay in touch outside of rehab, we would hold each other accountable for maintaining sobriety or abstinence, if one of us ... fell off the wagon, the other would help us get back on our feet again. And ... we did. For years.”

“You and Sherlock were each other’s Sober Companions.”

“Yes, Madame.”

“Is that why you always treated each other the way you did? Why you called each other “old friend”?”

“Yes, Madame. But it wasn’t just Sherlock. I ... I knew John Watson, too.” That came out a bit too softly to be heard.

“What was that, Sergeant?” A brief tightening of the fingers that had never left her hair.

“I knew John Watson, too. We ... were kids together.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, Madame.” She nodded.

“Tell me?” It was a request, not a demand.

 

Sally remembered living next-door to the Watsons for _years_ , befriending a very precocious six-year-old John Watson one day when they discovered each other hiding in what, up until that moment, they had believed to be a very secret hiding-place that no one else knew about. She and John had patched each other up, having gone into hiding from abusive family, and talked about ... everything. That had been the beginning of a beautiful friendship that lasted into their teenage years. They had dropped out of contact for a while when John went to medical-school and Sally tried to figure out what to do with her life.

 

They had reunited in 2001 when Sally, enlisted with the Army by then, had deployed to Afghanistan. After that, they had stuck together until 2007 when Sally’s number was up and she got sent home. John had stayed behind, he had a year left, and she hadn’t seen him again until she encountered him in the pub in 2009. And then he had gotten involved with Sherlock Holmes in 2010 and Sally had secretly been so relieved. They were perfect for each other and watching Sherlock change around John had been ... heartwarming. There was someone else who understood Sherlock and wasn’t afraid to love him unconditionally, but if a tough-love approach was needed John was happy to deliver.

 

“Were you jealous of them, Sergeant?” Madame asked gently once Sally had told her story. She very quickly shook her head.

“No, Madame! Never, I was ... _happy_ for them! I never envied them what they had.”

“But?”

“I ... ” She took a deep breath. Not jealousy, but she was guilty of perhaps wishing she could be with them.

“You were not jealous of them, that is clear to me now. But perhaps you wanted to be with them?”

“Yes, Madame.”

“Did they know this?”

“I ... don’t know, Madame. I didn’t want to get in the way, I didn’t want to come between them.”

“Did you have any indication that you would have done such a thing?”

“No, Madame.” Sally shook her head, “I think if I’d been brave enough to ask ... ”

“Do you think they would have turned you down?”                                                      

“Not out of hand, no. That’s not how either of them are.”

“What do you want from me, then?”

“I don’t know.” She ducked her head, “I ... don’t know, Madame.”

“When I asked you earlier if you thought you needed to be punished, you said yes. Why?”

“I don’t know, Madame, it just ... I need ... ”

“You came here for guidance.”

“Yes, Madame.” Sally took a deep breath. A few lashes with the crop wouldn’t have been amiss, but that was at Madame’s discretion.

“I am not inclined to inflict physical punishment tonight, you have suffered enough in your own head.”

“Yes, Madame. Thank you, Madame.” She had kind of suspected this would happen, knew better than most that sometimes self-inflicted punishment more effective than anything a dom or domme could inflict. Sometimes waiting and anticipation, self-reflection, were reprimand enough. This seemed to be one of those moments. Instead of corporal punishment, Madame simply had Sally kneel quietly in handcuffs for an hour. Honestly, she was fine with that, she was more than happy to kneel for Madame, for as long as required.

* * *

* * *

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sally owes Greg some story-time. A glimpse of her past is brought to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is NOT going the way I thought it would, and I have no idea where it's going next, so just...be patient with me?

* * *

* * *

Two weeks later, Sally was once again buried in reports when she heard a commotion by the door of her office, which she shared with another DS. Hoping to Christ it wasn’t Anderson, and fully prepared to file against him if she really needed to take that step, she looked up to see who had come to bother her. Well, up enough to alert her caller to her awareness.

“Anderson, I swear to God if you set one toe in this office, I won’t be sorry for taping your face to a shooting-target and blowing it full of holes.”

“Well, I’m _not_ Anderson, and I think that’s probably in my favour just now.” It _wasn’t_ Anderson.

“Greg!” She looked up sharply, “Oh, sorry!”

“Why? You weren’t threatening _me_ , were you?” Her boss just flashed her a sly grin.

“Uh, no. I don’t think I’ve ever considered defacing a photocopy of your face taped to a shooting-target out of sheer spite, sir.”

“But you _have_ threatened to hold a gun to my head before.”

“Well, yeah.” Sally rolled her eyes. “Have, at least once, I think.”

“More than once.” Greg came into the office and she noticed he was ready to head out.

“Going home for the night, then, Boss?”

“Yep. It’s leaving-time, Donovan. Come on, I’m dragging you out of this joint.”

“Okay?”

“You owe me a few stories.” He just smirked and collected her gear for her while she shut down her computer.

“Are you buying?”

“How does a night in with Thai and London Pride sound?”

“What’s on DVR?”

“You can pick. I’ve got a few matches recorded, or I have a couple of DVDs.”

“Twist my arm, why don’t you?” Sally rolled her eyes and took her coat and bag from Greg. “Star Wars?”

“Or Lord of the Rings. Your choice.”

“In exchange for a couple of stories about how I know some of the most unusual detectives London was ever lucky enough to have, whether we knew that or acknowledged them or not?”

“Exactly. Smart girl.”

“Learned most of my street-smarts from Holmes, sir.” She followed him out of the office, making sure to lock up as she left.

“Did I ever think to ask how the two of you _met_?” He held the door for her when the lift came and she pressed the proper floor-indicator. “Because it was pretty clear, to me anyway, that you knew him before you ever set eyes on him at one of our scenes.”

“I’m not sure if you would believe me, sir. And the story of how I know Watson is even stranger.”

“Well, we’ve got all night, so start talking.” He gave her a familiar look and she knew it would take a complete retelling of every gruelling moment of shame and triumph to satisfy him.

“Be careful what you ask for, Boss,” Sally said as they reached the car-park. Greg, of course, did the driving.

“I’ll pay for a taxi if Mycroft Holmes doesn’t pull his usual and give you a ride home.” He smiled at her over the roof of his car, and Sally blushed.

“You ... know about that, sir?”

“His cars aren’t very subtle, and he keeps showing up. Sherlock’s not around anymore, and I know he could care two spits less about me, so why would he keep coming ‘round to scenes or even the office?” A raised eyebrow was all she got for that. Sally worried her lip and decided she might as well come clean about that relationship. Not just how she knew Sherlock, but how she knew Mycroft and why he looked after her.

“It’s ... not a very glamorous story, I’m afraid.”

“Ah, so there is a story?”

“An interesting one, sir.” She cleared her throat as they left behind the offices. “Do you remember years ago, when we first met? Before I ever thought about joining The Met?”

“Yeah, I remember that. And I only remember that because I dragged you _and_ Sherlock out of the same bust and tossed you into holding to cool your heads before your bail was posted and you both disappeared on me.” Greg looked at her as they sat at a light. “Jesus, Sal, you were a _kid_ back then! And right after that, you both went AWOL on me! It took me six months to find out you’d gone into rehab, and straight from rehab to basic training!”

“And Sherlock started uni.”

“Right. So?”

“Mycroft is the one who ... he paid my bail. Sherlock didn’t want me getting lost to the system, he knew I wasn’t some one-off loser with no future. Even back then, he knew. He wanted ... ”

“He wanted you to have a chance.”

“Yeah. So, Mycroft bailed us out, shipped us off to rehab, and then he offered me the Army and Sherlock went for whatever could hold his interest at university. I think he came out with two or three separate degrees.”

“Wow. Did you stay in touch?”

“Yeah, we did. I would write him letters from Basic and then wherever I was deployed from. And whenever I was home, we ... I would visit him, make sure he was staying clean, staying out of trouble.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. So, whenever we found him ... ”

“Whenever I got a phone call from Big Brother Holmes regarding his little brother’s whereabouts and wellbeing, would I mind making a well-check, you always came with me. And why you always get so frustrated with him when he brushes off his bad habits or shows up on a scene running on three hours of sleep in two weeks, tea, and biscuits.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You didn’t call him “Freak” because you hated Sherlock Holmes, you called him that to throw people off! You didn’t want anyone to know just how close you two were!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Jesus Christ, Sally.” Greg looked at her as he made a turn. “I thought it was just some misguided superiority complex because you had made something of yourself but Sherlock had pretty much thrown away his chances, far as you could tell.”

“No, that’s ... I don’t _hate_ Sherlock Holmes, I love him. He’s one of my best friends, I never _ever_ meant to hurt him like I did. I never wanted him dead, I would never wish that on him. Common sense, humility maybe, respect for procedure the way we’re taught to do things, but I would never _ever_ wish Sherlock dead.” Sally shook her head sharply. “I hated Moriarty, I knew there was something wrong about him the first time I heard his name. And when I realized what he was doing to Sherlock, I tried to stop him.”

“Sherlock?”

“I called him, you know? I begged him not to do whatever Moriarty was forcing him into, there had to be some other way. But he told me something that stuck with me, and it made me wonder.”

“What did he say?”

“He told me, he said “Sally, if I don’t go through this, we all die. If I go through this, I die.” Whatever Moriarty was planning, Sherlock had no choice. I was so angry with both of them, Moriarty for forcing Sherlock into making that kind of choice, and Sherlock for doing something selfish and selfless all at once.”

“You miss him, don’t you?”

“Of course I miss him. And if I miss him, I can’t imagine how much John must miss him.”

“And you knew Sherlock longer than he did.”

“I knew Sherlock longer than John did, but I knew John longer than Sherlock did.”

“So, you’re friends with the Holmes brothers going way back, and that’s why Mycroft keeps showing up around our scenes to keep an eye on you. How do you know John, then?”

“I met him while I was with the Army. Well, no, I met him _again_ while I was with the Army.” She looked out the window, thinking back fondly on those long-ago days. “We were kids together in Scotland, he was like a big brother to me.”

“You lived in _Scotland_?”

“Until I was sixteen. My family moved to London three weeks after John decided on medical school and left for uni, but we fell out of touch until I found myself in Afghanistan.”

“Damn.” Greg blinked, making another turn, “Are you kidding me?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, shit! That explains ... well, that explains _everything_! Christ, Sal, I had no idea! I didn’t think ... ” He trailed off, making a vague gesture with one hand and Sally grinned.

“No, sir, you didn’t think.” She repeated back the words he had said to her two weeks ago. “But that’s okay.”

“Should have you up for that, take your badge.”

“I’m too useful, sir.” She flashed him a know-it-all smirk and snickered when he just gave her a dirty look.

“Lucky for _you_ I’m not interested in the effort it would take to get rid of you and then replace you.” He muttered. “Also, Mycroft would never forgive me.”

“Not anytime soon.” Sally couldn’t help herself.

“Well, we’re here, otherwise I’d kick you out and _make_ you walk,” Greg said as he set the parking brake.

“No, you wouldn’t!” Sally gave him a look she had learned from Sherlock as she got out and stole his keys to get into the building.

“Oi!”

“Oh, stop. Come on!” She waved him off, holding the door for him once she had the door open. “In you go!”

“Now I know where you get your attitude!” He grumbled, turning to pay the delivery-driver who had just pulled up with their food.

“You sound so surprised, Boss!” She took the plastic bag from him, “Come _on_ , already!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming. Jesus.” He rolled his eyes as he passed her by. Getting up to Greg’s flat, Sally opened the door for him and locked up again once they were both inside.

“You, sit. See if there’s a match on.” She directed him towards the sitting room, heading for the kitchen likewise.

“Otherwise?”

“If you have the Extended Version of The Fellowship of The Ring.”

“Christ you drive a hard bargain.”

“Oh, stop it.” She rolled her eyes as he vanished in the direction of the sitting room, grumbling all along the way, and divvied up the food in the kitchen before taking it out to where he had parked himself on one of two armchairs, feet up on an ottoman, flipping through DVD menus. Ah, looked like they were watching The Fellowship tonight. Excellent.

“Food.” She handed over the plate. “Got enough for four people, Boss.”

“Another meal for me, and I learned my lesson real quick with John.” Greg looked up at her as she passed by on her way back to the kitchen to get the drinks, “Don’t be terribly surprised if he shows up.”

“I can be nice.” She shot back. After retrieving the drinks, she sat down on the couch and put her feet up as the opening credits rolled.

 

It was a nice, quiet night in, a very  _normal_ night in, and Sally kind of appreciated that normalcy. She finished filling Greg in on her bizarre history both with the Holmes brothers and with John Watson, she owed him the whole truth, the silly escapades and scrapes she’d gotten herself into and out of again over the years. By the time end-credits rolled, Sally was in no condition to go anywhere and Greg gave her the choice of sleeping over at his or getting a cab home. 

“I’ll risk a cab.” She yawned, leaning against the work-top after helping with wash-up. “Haven’t been home in a couple of days, I kind of miss my bed and God knows I need a shower.”

“Want me to call one for you?” Greg handed her a cup of tea. Before she could answer that question, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She retrieved it and hoped to God it wasn’t another case coming in. But that would have been a phone call, not a text message. And it wasn’t, it was Mycroft. He wanted to know if she was in need of a safe, reliable ride home.

_I understand you went home with Inspector Lestrade, how has your evening gone? – Myc_

_It was a nice break from work. He drove, of course. – Sid_

_And as a result, you are now in need of reliable transportation home. I would be more than happy to pick you up. – Myc_

_If it’s not too far out of your way. Don’t make a special trip just for my sake. – Sid_

It was worth it to try, despite his regular habit of doing just that very thing.

 

_Nonsense, I will be there in ten minutes. – Myc_

Sally read that reply and made a face before she composed her own.

 

_You know, sometimes I really do hate you. – Sid_

_No, you don’t. See you in ten, my dear. – Myc_

 

“What’s _that_ face for?” Greg asked, eyeing her over the rim of his teacup.

“Sometimes I really do hate Mycroft Holmes.” She muttered, pocketing her phone. “Nosy old bastard can’t help himself sometimes.”

“What’s he done now?”

“Gone out of his way home to come and pick me up.” Sally looked at the remains of her own tea and sniffed. “ _Again_.”

“Well, knowing what I do about your relationship with him now, can I just say that I am not surprised?” Greg smirked, “You’ve got some pretty useful friends, Sal. Just sayin’.” She didn’t deign a response to that, instead she settled for flipping him off. He just laughed. Ten minutes later found her on the kerb waiting for her ride home. Greg watched from the door, waiting until Mycroft showed up to get her before going to bed. When she saw a black Rolls Royce pull up, she raised an eyebrow. She recognized _that_ car, alright. She rolled her eyes as the car came to a stop and the driver emerged, coming around the car.

“Show off.” She muttered.

“Sally.”

“Mycroft. Thanks for the lift.” She looked over her shoulder at Greg, who was openly gawking. “See you tomorrow, Greg!”

“Uh. Yeah, I’ll … see you tomorrow, I guess. Good night, Sal!”

“Good night!” She shared a look with Mycroft as she got into the Silver Seraph. As they got underway, she yawned and got comfortable for the drive to hers.

“So, I don’t think Greg knew you had _this_ particular car.” She tapped her knuckles against the cool glass. “Did you see his face?”

“I did, just briefly. I’m sure you’ll have more explaining to do tomorrow when you see him again.”

“Yep.” Sally chuckled. “Thanks for coming to get me, Mycroft, I _know_ you weren’t anywhere near Greg’s place when you offered.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust the city taxi-drivers, but I don’t trust the city taxi-drivers.” He looked at her, his expression was soft. “I would rather know you made it safely home than wonder.”

“Worry-wart.”She smiled, “You’re a good friend, Myc, a better friend than I deserve.”

“My dear, I have seen you at your most monstrous and spiteful, I will _always_ be the friend you need.”

“Tough-love and all?”

“Tough-love and all.”

“Thanks for that, Myc.”

“Any time, Sid.” Ah, and there was her old nickname. The drive home was quiet, Mycroft saw her to her door, and wished her a pleasant night’s sleep.

“Good night, Mycroft. Thanks for the ride.”

“Good night, Sally. Please sleep well.” He kissed her on the cheek and she waited until he was out of sight to close her door and lock up for the night. Selina came looking for her, and she cuddled with her pet after brushing her teeth and changing into pyjamas. She didn’t feel too bad about being away for the past four days, though, Mycroft would have looked after Selina for her while she was otherwise occupied with work. Tomorrow was another day, and no doubt there would be new cases.

* * *

* * *

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A personal crisis sends Sally north of the border.

* * *

* * *

Sally devoted her time to her job, ignoring Philip Anderson when he tried to talk to her either at the office or on a scene, spent her off-hours with her small circle of friends, and contemplated how to make amends with John Watson. Whenever they had anything to do with each other, she didn’t say anything to him. She knew he hadn’t quite forgiven her, that he wasn’t ready to reach out to her yet. But she was willing to wait as long as she had to.

 

It was well into the New Year before anything really happened or any opportunity to mend ways with John presented itself. Sally only knew something was seriously wrong when she stopped by Greg’s office one night after seeing his light was still on. There was almost no one else still on the work-floor, the offices were pretty much abandoned at this hour, but Sally was working late on some backlog that had been cluttering her desk. The fact that Greg still hadn’t gone home wasn’t what surprised her, it was the fact that he hadn’t gone home yet for the fifth night in a row. Sally was wondering if he was actually sleeping in his office. Curious, she mentally went back through the roster of active cases they had on and if any would warrant the kind of overtime Greg was pulling. Nothing came to mind, and she suspected he would tell her if something had come up that the team needed to buckle down on. Instead of disturbing him, she backtracked to her own office and grabbed a stack of files she needed the division’s chief super to sign off on. Making her way from the division offices up to the administrative offices, she was relieved to find the light on in Audrey Malcolm’s office. She knocked and waited for Malcolm to summon her.

“You should have been home hours ago, Donovan.” Malcolm said by way of summons, “What are you still doing here?”

“Clearing up some backlog, ma’am.” She stepped into the nice office, she didn’t see the inside of it very often and that was fine with her. “These need your clearance before I send them to Archives.” Meaning the stack in her hands.

“That’s not the _only_ reason you came all the way up here to see me, Donovan, I’m not stupid.” The woman who had taken over the division from Eddie West looked at her carefully, her gaze sharp. “What’s on your mind, then?”

“Inspector Lestrade is still here, ma’am, he hasn’t been home in a week. I don’t know _what_ he’s up to, he’s not talking to any of us about it.” She set the stack down and took a step backwards, “There weren’t any high-profile cases I missed out on, were there?”

“No, I don’t imagine there have been, he wouldn’t lock you out of something like that, Donovan.” Malcolm frowned, “What, do you think there’s something wrong?”

“He’s been awfully quiet the last couple of days. More than usual.” She folded her hands behind her back, “I was hoping you might know something, ma’am.”

“Nothing comes to mind immediately. He _did_ pick up a missing person case earlier this week.”

“He _did_?” That was news to Sally.

“I was under the impression he had spoken to the team about the matter, he said it was extremely important that _he_ take the case.”

“That’s news to me! Who was it, ma’am?” Sally wasn’t sure if it was her right to ask, but she had to ask.

“Fellow by the name of Watson was reported missing five days ago by his landlady.”

“Who, ma’am?”

“Watson. A John H. Watson, reported missing from his residence on Sunday.” Malcolm was looking at her computer now, paying no attention to Sally, “He was reported missing by a Martha Hudson of 221A Baker Street, Watson lived upstairs of her in … ”

“221B Baker Street.” Sally couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “He was friends and partners with Sherlock Holmes before last July, ma’am.”

“Oh, it _was_ that Watson!” Malcolm looked up at her and frowned, “I was hoping it wasn’t.”

“Ma’am, if you don’t mind, I have to … ” Sally was halfway out the door. Malcolm just waved her out.

“Good luck, Donovan! We’re well beyond the first forty-eight hours, who knows where he is or if he’s still alive.”

“I’ll find him, dead _or_ alive,” Sally said to herself, opting for the stairs instead of the lift as she returned to the division offices. She knocked on Greg’s door after sprinting across the quiet work floor, startling the few people who were still at their desks.

“What!” Greg barked from inside. “I said no interruptions! Go. Away!”

“Greg?” Sally tried the door and found it locked, “It’s me, can I come in?” She was fully prepared to use her own keys or even pick the lock to get in if she had to. She’d done it before. She could hear him pacing back and forth in the office, could imagine him tugging at his hair in annoyance and concern.

“Sally?” The pacing stopped and she heard him approach the door.

“Yeah. Can I come in, please?” She kept her hand on the handle. There was a rattle and a click and the door opened from inside. She stepped into the office and made sure to close the door behind her right away, looking around.

“Christ, I was joking!” Sally muttered, taking in the absolute disaster that her boss’s office had become as she stepped over a stack of papers. “You really _are_ living here, aren’t you? Jesus, when’s the last time you were home?”

 

This had hit hard, he looked pale and sleep-deprived, he had to be suffering from nicotine poisoning by now but still smoked like his life depended on it, his hair stuck up in every direction, and the clothes he was wearing were the same he’d been wearing three days ago. His office was littered with empty coffee-cups and takeaway containers, paper cups full of spent cigarette butts were all over the desk. One whole wall looked like the old sitting-room wall at Baker Street, plastered over with photographs, print-outs, and a map of England. Smaller maps of specific places had been printed out and pinned up, with strings leading to each location. There were dozens of such pins, she couldn’t actually count all of them.

“What’s this?” She went for a closer look as Greg wandered over to his desk, stumbling a bit. She heard him opening drawers on his desk, muttering to himself.

“What’s it _look_ like?”

“It’s an Evidence Wall.” She looked at photographs that had been tacked onto the wall with pins and tape, “Is this … John?”

“Yeah. Went missing five days ago. We’ve been scouring every bolt-hole and safe-house in London we can think of looking for him.” A click told her he’d found what he was looking for. “I’ve called every constabulary and police force within a twenty-mile radius for help, but he’s … ”

“He’s gone.” She looked at some of the printouts. “Where was he last seen on CCTV?”

“Euston Station, Monday afternoon. He bought a one-way train ticket to Manchester, but he never arrived. If he got off on another stop or ever got on that train in the first place, we just don’t know.”

“Mycroft can’t help?”

“He’s done everything he _can_ trying to help me. He’s even sent out some of his agents, pulled them from other field-assignments to look for John.”

“You’ve covered trains, clearly, have you checked airports and bus-terminals?”

“Yeah, no luck there, either.”

“Well, he learned how to get himself lost from Sherlock.” She studied the northern portion of the map, there were far fewer pins up here. “You haven’t called Police Scotland yet, have you?”

“Uh, what?” That got a look. She turned from the map and looked at her boss.

“I said, you haven’t called Police Scotland.”

“No? Why would I do that?”

“Mrs Hudson called and reported John missing?”

“Yeah, five days ago. Why?”

“I think I know where he went.” She was looking at a particular part of the map. “If I know him like I think I do, I know _exactly_ where he went.”

“Where are you going?” Greg watched her leave his office.

“I’ll be in touch, Greg.”

“Sal!” He yelled after her. She just closed his door as she left and hurried back to her office. Pulling up her computer, she did a quick search for a certain address in Glasgow. She knew it was unlikely anyone from John’s family still lived in the Coldstream Drive house in Rutherglen, but that didn’t matter.

 

As she traced routes from John’s old childhood home to a particular location near Cathkin Braes Country Park, she picked up her desk-phone and dialled a certain number. It only rang twice, she felt bad for the hour, but if anyone could help her get this madness underway, it was the man she’d called.

_“Hello?”_

_“Myc. I am so sorry about calling you like this.”_ She cradled the receiver between her ear and shoulder, _“But I think I know where John is.”_

_“What?”_

_“John Watson.”_ She narrowed her eyes and studied the aerial sat images of Coulter’s Wood. _“I know where he went, I know where he is right now.”_

_“Who told  you?”_

_“DCS Malcolm. I asked what was keeping Greg so busy and she brought up a missing person case.”_

_“And you found out it was John who had gone missing.”_

_“I don’t care why I wasn’t told, but I’m going to help you find him and bring him back to London.”_ She closed the browser windows after printing off what she needed.

_“What do you need, my dear?”_

_“A reliable car, and a change of clothes. One for myself and one for John.”_

_“Do you need anything else?”_

_“No, I don’t need anything else right now. I do need to be on my way north in an hour, so get moving.”_

_“Might I ask where you’re going, Sal?”_

_“I’m going home, Mycroft. I’ll be back in twenty-four hours, no later than that.”_

_“What makes you think you can find John Watson? No one has seen him or will tell us if they have.”_ Mycroft wasn’t challenging her, he knew better than that. _“And every police force within twenty miles of the city has been notified, as far north as sixty miles.”_

 _“You’re not looking far enough.”_ She put her phone on speaker and started collecting what she needed, _“Let me find John. I know where to go.”_

_“He may not want to see you, Sally.”_

_“I’ll worry about that when I get there.”_ She checked her side-arm and took a spare clip. _“I’ll call as soon as I get to Glasgow.”_

_“Very well. I’ll make arrangements to have you taken off rota at The Met. I’ll have A meet you at yours with the overnight bag and car.”_

_“Thanks, Mycroft. I know this is really last minute and you’ve got enough on your plate to worry about without having to worry about your little brother’s partner on top of everything else.”_

_“I’m afraid Sherlock would have very cross words for me if I neglected to look after John properly.”_

_“Never mind the talking-to you’d get from me.”_ She snorted and holstered her side-arm. _“Well, I’ll be in touch. Tell A this is going to be a short hand-off.”_

_“She’ll be ready for you. Shall I take care of Selina Kyle for you?”_

_“If you don’t mind.”_ She smiled, knowing he was only asking out of courtesy.

_“Of course I don’t mind! Do be safe and let me know as soon as you get to Glasgow.”_

_“Will do, Myc. Thanks for everything.”_ She hung up with Mycroft and grabbed her coat. With her work-bag over one shoulder, she headed out.

“Hey.” She stopped by Greg’s office on her way out of the office, “I’m off. Do you need anything?”

“Sanity?” He looked at her over his shoulder, “I just can’t figure out where John would _go_ like that. He’s ... completely disappeared! And I thought that was Sherlock’s game!”

“I’ll find him, Boss.” She smiled, looking at the map again. “He may not be all that thrilled to see me, but if he didn’t want me to find him, he should have picked somewhere else to hide.”

“Where _is_ he hiding? Where’d he go?”

“He’s in Glasgow.” She took a couple of map-pins and added the map of Rutherglen to the Evidence Wall, putting a pin on Coulter’s Wood, the Coldstream Drive house, and her old family home on Bowhouse Drive.

“Scotland?”

“I’ll be in touch once I know something.” She tied string between the new pins and linked them to the others.  “Keep your phone on you, Boss.”

“Wait, where are _you_ going?”

“I have a seven-hour drive ahead of me, I’m going back to mine.” She left him behind staring at the new additions to the Evidence Wall. “Stay here. Stay in London.”

“Are you ... you’re not driving all the way up to Rutherglen _tonight_ , are you?”

“Yes, sir, I am. I can’t waste any more time, but I’ll be in touch as soon as I get there.” She promised, leaving him behind. Getting to her car, she drove home. As promised, A met her there and she surrendered her keys, trading them for the keys to the Land Rover parked in the spot in front of hers.

“Safe driving, Sergeant. Your luggage is in the boot. Mr Holmes made arrangements for your lodging while you’re in Glasgow.”

“Thanks.” Sally got behind the wheel of the Land Rover and got started on her northbound journey. There was very little traffic once she got out of London, but she had no problem focusing on the road ahead. The drive from London to Glasgow was a very quiet, lonely one, and Sally knew she drove a bit faster than strictly safe, but no one she passed along the way who should have minded seemed to. Well, both Greg _and_ Mycroft had said that every force within sixty miles of London had been notified that John Watson was missing. Maybe they knew something was up, that the unmarked black Land Rover driving hell-for-leather from London had somewhere to go and the sooner she got there the better.

 

It was just past five o’clock in the morning when Sally pulled into the hotel car-park and set the brakes before she got out. Collecting the overnight bag, she locked the car and put the keys in her pocket as she headed for the hotel lobby. Making her way to the front desk, Sally set the overnight bag by her feet as she reached the desk. She honestly didn’t know where she was, she had just followed the GPS from London to wherever she was in Glasgow. A sleepy, puzzled clerk emerged from the back when she sounded the bell and when he saw her, his eyes widened.

“Oh, so sorry, miss! I was in the back!” He said, his accent thick and a little alarming for a Londoner like Sally. “Welcome to The Torrance Hotel! How can I help you?”

“Reservation for Holmes? The name is Donovan.”

“Of course, miss! You look a bit worn off! Where are you up from, then?”

“London.” She leaned against the desk and fished up her wallet, handing over her bank-card and license when the clerk asked for them. “It’s okay if I check in right now?”

“Oh, absolutely! Mr Holmes made it quite clear that as soon as you arrived, you would be checking in with us! One night?”

“Yes.” Sally stifled a yawn. “The stupid things I do for my friends.”

“Well, Sergeant, here are your cards back, and the key to your room! Would you like a wake-up call?”

“No thank you.”

“Very well, ma’am!” He handed her a key-portfolio with the room-number written on it and pointed the way. Getting to her room didn’t take long, and after hanging the “Do Not Disturb” placard and setting the deadbolt, she drew the black-out curtains and stripped to her underwear, climbing between the cool sheets in nothing but a cami and panties. Worn out by her seven-hour drive from London and the long week prior to taking on this rather foolish mission, Sally was asleep in no time at all. But not before she managed to send a text to Mycroft and Greg to let them know she’d made it to Glasgow safely and would be looking for John as soon as she had a few hours of sleep under her belt.

 

A few hours of sleep turned out to be seven hours later, Sally slept until a quarter past noon. Upon waking up, she took a shower and got dressed in the change of clothes Mycroft’s people had thoughtfully packed for her. At which point, she decided to go looking for her old friend. John was in Glasgow, she knew he was, and she had a pretty good idea where she might be able to find him. Driving from the hotel to a car-park in Cathkin Braes Country Park, she left the Land Rover behind and set off on foot for Coulter’s Wood. If she _didn’t_ find John in Coulter’s Wood, she would happily enlist the locals. She had a few connections in Police Scotland who would be very happy to help her locate her wayward friend and make sure he wasn’t getting himself into serious trouble.

 

It didn’t take her very long at all to reach her destination, and she paused just out of sight of the folly she remembered so fondly from childhood. She could see the folly, but no one inside or on it could see _her_. From here, it looked abandoned. Knowing better than to announce herself, Sally made her approach on careful tread, hoping to Christ she would find John here. As she reached the top of the trail leading up to the folly, she saw small signs all over that someone had been here, and recently. Sally knelt to inspect some tracks and raised an eyebrow. Doing something a little unusual, she removed one of her boots and laid it next to the footprint in the mud. She and John had the same shoe-size, which had always been one of the more amusing quirks between them. It looked like a match, so she laid her boot in the existing print. It might as well have been the same fucking shoe! She remembered giving John a pair of patrol boots for his birthday last year, and how he wore them absolutely everywhere.

 

Knowing that John had come this way, had been here very recently, she slipped her boot back on and headed for the quiet little bolthole. Peering over the side of the folly, she found him sitting with his back to her. She couldn’t tell if he was aware of her or not and didn’t quite feel like taking him completely by surprise.

“Hey.” She stood on the rim of the enclosure and looked down at him. He raised his head and she hopped over onto the other side, dropping into a crouch next to her friend. “John?”

“Sid?”

“Hi, Jack.” She smiled and put an arm around his shoulders very carefully. He didn’t reject her, which was either progress or a problem.

“What are you doing here?” He looked genuinely shocked to see anyone, especially anyone he _knew_. “How did you even find me?”

“I came looking for you. You’ve been gone all week, you know? Mrs Hudson called you in missing on Sunday, it’s been keeping Greg at the office at all hours trying to find you.” She leaned back against the wall, looking at him.

“But how did _you_ find me? How did you even ... ”

“I found you because I know you. I drove up last night from London and spent the morning sleeping in a hotel.” She took his hand in hers, “John, why did you run away?”

“I ... missed him. I can’t stand it, Sally!” Oh, and there it was. Sally frowned.

“Sherlock?”

“Why did he do that to me?”

“He did it because of us, John,” Sally said carefully. “He told me that it was us or him, and he couldn’t stand the thought of anything happening to us.”

“But what about us! What about him?! Didn’t his life matter just as much?”

“Of course it did.”

“I just ... I want him back, Sally, I want to all have been a really bad dream. But every day I wake up and the flat’s empty, the bed’s empty, and I can’t ... ” John trailed off, covering his mouth with one hand as the most heart-breaking sound came out of him.

“I’m here, John, I’ve got you. It’s okay, I promise.” Sally said quietly, letting him cry. It was just like when they were kids, running away from their abusive fathers, but this wasn’t a hurt that she could heal with a plaster. And she hated that.

“You ... you miss him, too, don’t you?” John muttered, shaky and heaving.

“Of course I miss him! He was one of my best friends. One of the best men I ever knew!”

“Best, and wisest. Total arse most of the time, but he was ... ”

“He was amazing. More than any of us deserved.” She leaned her head against John’s, closing her eyes. “I never wished him dead, John, you _have_ to know that. I never ever wanted that for him. Sense, maybe, humility, but I never wanted him dead.”

“I know.” John sniffled, “I’m sorry I ever hated you, Sally. You didn’t deserve that from me, I treated you like shite and you ... you _let_ me.”

“You were grieving, and I was party to the death of your best friend.”

“That doesn’t make it right!” John snapped, immediately deflating. He ducked his head. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.” She sighed. “John, come home, please?”

“I don’t want to live in an empty flat, I can’t stand it.”

“But you can’t bear the thought of leaving Baker Street.” She knew at least that much about John.

“Sally, tell me what to do? Please.” He took her hand in his and squeezed, “I can’t stand myself.”  She looked at him, taking in his haggard, worn appearance. He looked worse than Greg did, and that was saying something. She rubbed her fingers along his jaw, noting the soft scrape of his beard. His eyes were dim and puffy, his skin pale but reddened from recent exposure to the elements. Jesus, how long had it been like this? It was February now, wasn’t it? Sherlock had jumped in July of last year, she had last seen John in November. That was almost three months now, and six since the Moriarty scandal had seen a tragic end.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“What can I possibly say that would make _any s_ ense?”

“Well, for starters.” She looked around at where they were sitting, “You could have gone _anywhere_ you wanted, but you came here. You came back to Coulter’s Wood, to Saefolly. Of all the places you could have gone to get away from ... whatever sent you running from London, you came here? Why?”

“When I realized I was right back where I started, before I met you, before I met Sherlock, I ... I panicked. I couldn’t ... ”

“You were so isolated, so overwhelmed, you couldn’t even ask Greg for help, could you?”

“No. I didn’t want to _bother_ him, he’s been so busy lately and he has better things to do than put up with my miserable corpse.”

“He’s been running himself ragged since last Sunday, John, busy be damned. He’s _worried_ about you, worried himself into a frenzy.” She thought of the Evidence Wall in Greg’s office at The Met. “He put up an Evidence Wall, for Christ’s sake!”

“He _did_?”

“Yeah. I took a picture of it.” She fished her phone out of her pocket and showed the picture to John. “See? All of _that_ is for you, trying to find you.”

“Oh. Why didn’t he get Mycroft involved?” John looked at her curiously. “He would have found me within twenty-four hours.”

“He _did_ get Mycroft involved, and Mycroft’s been pulling agents from other missions all week. Every constabulary and force from Plymouth to Leicester has a bulletin with your name and description on it, I’d guess no less than three MI6 agents are scouring every corner they can find looking for you.” She shook her head. “But _none_ of them ever thought to look for you all the way up here.”

“Well, one of them did.” She saw a bit of a smile. “Should’ve known someone would find me up here.”

“No offence, but the minute I realized no one had come this far north looking for you, I knew exactly where to start.” She turned her hand over in his and linked their fingers together, “So, I got a car from Mycroft and drove seven hours overnight.”

“That’s probably the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever done.” John’s smile smoothed into something genuine. “And you invaded Afghanistan.”

“Oh, that wasn’t _just_ me!” She giggled, unable to help it. “You had as much to do with that madness as I did, sir!”

“Well, in my defence, they paid for my medical school.”

“And _my_ police academy.”

“I knew you’d do great things, Sally.” He sighed, leaning against her, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. “I just ... you asked me what I was thinking, why I ran away like that.”

“If I could get a straight answer out of you.”

“I just wanted to go somewhere _safe_. Somewhere where no one else could ever possibly find me because why would they ever think of it?”

“And just like when we were kids, you came here.” She rubbed her cheek against his hair, soft but in need of a wash. “I knew this is where you would come.”

“And you came after me.”

“I made you a promise a long, _long_ time ago, John Watson.” She studied the way her hand fit into his. “I will _always_ have your six.”

“Yeah, I guess you did, didn’t you?” John turned his head and looked at her. “I’ve been gone since Sunday, Sid.”

“I know.” She rolled her eyes, “The last anyone had eyes on you was at Euston on Monday buying a one-way ticket to Manchester. You kind of ... disappeared after that.”

“What took so long?”

“I didn’t find out until last night, and that was only because I went over Greg and straight to Malcolm.”

“And she told you?”

“Yep.”

“And you just figured I’d gone to ground at home, didn’t you?”

“Well, considering everywhere else they’ve been looking for you has come up empty? Where the hell _else_ were you going to be?” Sally felt the dampness settling into her clothes and frowned.

“What are you thinking?”

“It’s freezing out here and my jeans are getting wet.”

“Well, I could do with a change of venue, maybe some clean clothes.”

“I can offer you both of those things.” She got up, brushed off her jeans, and held out both hands to John. He collected a backpack and she heaved him to his feet. With their arms about each other like the old friends they were, she led the way back her car and drove John back to the hotel. It was a step, a small one, in the right direction.

* * *

* * *

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sally finds John. Things go...surprisingly well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of mutual consent and some comfort-sex between two life-long friends.

* * *

* * *

Returning to the hotel, Sally and John retreated to her hotel room, the one reserved on Mycroft’s dime. She locked and dead-bolted the door, making sure the “Do Not Disturb” placard was in place and visible. The first thing she did was get John out of the clothes he’d been wearing for quite literally a week, bagging them for disposal, and direct him to the bathroom.

“What are you _doing_?”

“You need a shower, _I_ need a shower, and you also need a distraction.” She said, starting the water and running it as hot as she dared.

“A distraction?” He raised an eyebrow as she stepped away from the shower-over-tub combo in the room’s en-suite. Sally just smiled at him. She knew she had his attention as she put her hair up with a clip and reached for her shirt. He narrowed his eyes.

“Yes, Captain?” She let him smack her hands away and just met his gaze steady as he took her hands in his and pinned them behind her back.

“Don’t play a game you’re not ready for, Sergeant.” He muttered.

“Oh, I didn’t say _that_ , sir.” She grinned at him, flexing her wrists. Steam swirled around them from the shower as John looked her over with a slightly lewd gleam in his eye.

“Bloody tease.” His voice was low and hoarse, but not quite with exposure to the elements.  With a twitch of his fingers, he dropped her shirt to the floor, leaving her standing in denims and little else. Releasing one hand, he reached up and loosed the clasp of her bra with a slightly fumbled flick of rough fingers, proceeding to toss the article aside, running his hand along her back. Just a brief but intimate touch. He unfastened the button placket and zipper of her denims next, hooking his fingers in the waistband of the trousers and the panties and sliding them off her hips. Sally whined, a low, desperate noise, but she couldn’t be quite as ashamed of herself as she knew she should be. Kicking out of her jeans and panties, she took one step backwards, leading John towards the bath. He followed quite willingly. And with something to look forward to, they made short work of the shower.

 

There was plenty of touching and a bit of kissing, but kissing in the shower was nowhere near as romantic as literature made it out to be. One such attempt left them both sputtering and Sally spit out some water she’d nearly swallowed.

“Well, I hope that wasn’t because of me!” John laughed and reached over her to turn the water off.

“Not you!” She promised. “If I’m going to swallow something, it won’t be water!” Getting out was a careful exercise of not falling on their arses and she grabbed a towel for John and for herself.

“What are you doing?” He watched her as she dried off efficiently. “One towel?”

“I didn’t get my hair wet.”

“Well.” John grinned and reached out, carefully running his fingers through damp curls without disturbing the tie-up. “Not properly.” Sally rolled her eyes and passed him the towel, hardly damp yet. John was as prompt as she had been and after hanging the used towel over the back of the chair, Sally took his hand and tugged him in the direction of the small but adequate double bed.

 

It was what the Americans called a “full”, enough room for two people to get very cosy or just one to spread out a bit. Sally and John had both slept on beds far smaller and in less desirable conditions.

“Mycroft?” John asked.

“Gave me the car to get up here. Footing the bill for this misguided mission.” She sat on the edge of the bed and waited for him to join her.

“Mm. Not quite on the clock for The Met, are you?” That got a sly smile. “Went rogue to find me, did you?”

“Oh, don’t look so surprised.” She rolled her eyes, “I’d go AWOL to find you no matter what. Would’ve done back in 2009, if I’d had the means to.”

“God bless you, Sally Donovan.” John’s smile smoothed out into something soft and genuine and he put one arm around her shoulders, leaning in until she could practically see the different shades of colour in his eyes. But she didn’t have much time for close study, he decided a more proper kiss than their aborted attempts in the shower was in order. Sally was absolutely fine with that and offered no objection. She lifted one hand and touched, her fingers brushing against the line of his jaw.

 

With some adjusting, they got comfortable on the bed and John straddled Sally’s lap.  Any broken contact was re-engaged and they kept kissing and touching, hands and lips everywhere. The soft scrape of his beard set her skin tingling and she whined and giggled as John rubbed his unshaven cheek again her body to make her react just that way. He did this sometimes, but it had been ages since any man had touched her this way. Ages since _he_ had touched her this way. Anderson was clumsy and over-eager in the bedroom, a little more forceful than really necessary and often demeaning. John was ... attentive and careful, seeing to his partner’s needs as well as his own. Sally was the lucky focus of his efforts this afternoon, and she was thrilled for it. But she knew how to look after _her_ partners and offered up encouragement as she found familiar scars and new ones on his body, marking the signs of weight-loss and lack of self-care. It made her sad that he had suffered like this for so long, unable or unwilling to reach out to any friends who might be able to offer any kind of help. John was busy distracting her in the most delightful ways, so she couldn’t dwell on that for very long. She squealed softly as he rubbed his beard against the soft insides of her thighs, leaving obvious red marks that would be well-hidden by her clothes but would remind her for quite a long while of this encounter.

“J-John!” She stammered. “Jesus!”

“Like that, do you?” She didn’t have to look to know he was smiling. She looked anyway and met sparkling, mischievous eyes. Sally gave a small jump as he applied very gentle teeth to her left thigh, and her fingers slid into John’s hair, tightening just a bit as he worked a further mark into that bit of flesh. He just chuckled and kissed the irritated skin after he’d satisfied himself. Sally’s grip on John tightened a great deal as he turned his attention to the central focus of his efforts thus far but until now ignored. John looked up, his gaze inquisitive and open.

“You are clean?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good.” His eyes sparkled and he winked at her before returning to the task at hand. All Sally could do was hang on. If he didn’t take it easy, she would be completely useless and finished before he got to have any real fun. At any rate, it would be a trick to sit still for very long at work when she got back to London. That was okay with her.

“Does this mean you’ve forgiven me, then?” She asked after signalling for a halt before she went completely over the deep end.

“We’ve talked about this, love.” He lifted his head, “I should never have treated you like that, thought the worst of you. It wasn’t fair to you.”

“Well, you didn’t know any better.”

“Still.” He sniffled and made eye-contact, “Please let me make it up to you?”

“You’re only human, John Watson, but that’s why I love you.” She smoothed damp hair away from his forehead and smiled. He returned the smile and hopped from the bed.

 

As he disappeared into the bathroom to clean up a bit, knowing Sally _hated_ kissing after oral, she sighed and smoothed one hand down her body. She was startled by a gruff sound from the bathroom as she strayed towards her hot and aching centre.

“Oh, no you don’t!” John appeared in the doorway, tossing aside the face-cloth, “That is all mine, you naughty thing! Hands to yourself, Sergeant, or so help me!”

“You’re the one who walked away and left a girl unsatisfied!”

“Oh, that’s how you’re going to play? Well, then.” His smile was dangerous and Sally gulped reflexively. As he stalked the bed, she trailed her fingertips along her stomach, keeping eye-contact the whole time.

“Don’t. You. Dare.” He growled, but she didn’t stop.

“Come and stop me, then. Actions, Captain. Actions.”

“Christ, you are a sassy little bitch, aren’t you?” He chuckled, a very dangerous sound that made Sally’s blood sing.

“I learned from the best, sir.”  She offered with a winsome smile, as John took the invitation and joined her on the bed. He smelled like toothpaste and the hotel facial soap, and his skin was warm and damp. There was something comfortable about kissing John, something familiar and safe, and she would be happy to never kiss anyone else ever again. Well, not exactly. She’d be happy to kiss Sherlock Holmes if that opportunity ever presented itself, but she would be more than content to make sure the only _other_ person she ever kissed again was John.

“Out of your head, Sergeant.” He murmured, beard tickling her skin as he nibbled on her earlobe. “I want you right here with me, none of this wandering off into your head.”

“I would say I’m sorry, sir, but I was thinking that you’re one of the only people I ever want to kiss again.” She stroked the soft skin on the back of his neck, running her fingers up into his hair as he kissed his way down her neck. Using both hands, he did a bit of adjusting to get her right where he wanted her, roughened fingers gentle against her skin.

“No protection?” she asked as he lined himself up.

“No protection. I want to _feel_ , Sally, feel you properly.” He watched her carefully, “Is that alright with you?”

“Absolutely.” She rubbed her thumb against the nape of his neck. “I’ve missed you so much, John. I’m so sorry for everything that’s come between us since last July.”

“So am I. Shall we make amends together in the best way we can think of?”

“Please?” She flexed her hips a bit and sighed as she felt the tip of his cock brush against her swollen clit. That would be inside her soon, and Christ she was ready for him.

“Hold onto me, Sally.” He whispered as he pushed. Sally put her arms around him and breathed around the unfamiliar fullness. Well, not unfamiliar, just ... unexpected? She had forgotten that John was quite well-endowed, and therefore a bit bigger than any of her other partners ever had been. It made her realize how she had been short-changing and cheating herself of the proper goods by settling for the second-rate likes of Philip Anderson. He rocked carefully back and forth, letting her get used to him like this was their very first time ever, not just their first time in ages. By the time he had bottomed out and they were joined in the most intimate of ways, they were both panting and a fine sweat had broken out over their skin.

“Oh, my god. Oh, Sal.” John moaned, shaking with the first flood of endorphins. “Jesus fucking Christ. Oh.”

“I’m right here.” She promised, kissing him on the cheek. John made a low, soft noise in his chest and gave an experimental roll of his hips. Mm, not quite enough. Sally moved under him, prompting him to try again, and they worked out a rhythm that satisfied both of them. At one point, Sally spread her thighs wider, tucked her feet close, and held John by the hips as she slid down a bit more. That changed the angle completely and they gasped in tandem as he slid deeper still.

“Oh, my god!”

“Christ, you wonder!” He braced his hands on either side of her head, eyes shining, “You ... marvellous thing!”

“Harder!” Sally growled, digging her nails into his hips. John obliged, cursing in some foreign tongue as he worked them both towards climax. Farsi? Was he ... was he cursing in _Farsi_? She was so surprised to hear him speaking that language during sex that she burst out laughing. That reflex, involuntary as it was, caused her core muscles to tighten and in turn that set off John’s climax.

“Shit!” She groaned as heat flooded her body. “Oh. Shit.”

“Fucking ... ” John collapsed as he was spent, and she held him as her body shuddered through its own climax. Fuck, when was the last time she had actually _done_ that? When had she timed it so bloody perfectly that she came almost right after her partner? Sometimes she came before, sometimes after, sometimes she came not at all. She had hardly stopped twitching as he pulled out, careful of her comfort as he did so. John kissed her hard and long, aftershocks shaking them both, and she whined as he pulled away.

“Oh my god.”

“That ... was fucking _brilliant_! You are fantastic.” He breathed, so close they practically breathed the same air. “Christ, I’ve missed you, Sally. Don’t leave me?”

“I ... won’t. I won’t. I promise.” She caught her breath and looked up at him, at his bright, black eyes. There was a slender rim of blue, or whatever colour John’s eyes were, around the pupils, but it was just the sparest hint of colour visible. He smiled, brilliant and a little manic, and kissed her on the cheek as he hopped from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom again. When he returned, he had a damp flannel in hand and made careful, thorough work of cleaning up. Then, with some manoeuvring, they got comfortable under the covers and fell asleep together. Sally fell asleep with her head on John’s chest, the steady, elevated thrum of his heartbeat echoing in her ears. It was a soothing, familiar sound, and she realized just how _much_ she had missed this kind of intimacy. Not just the sex, which was frankly phenomenal, but just the closeness and easy touching that came between two life-long friends. Returning to London would be interesting, but that could wait for a while.

* * *

* * *

 


	9. Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sally return to London. But they don't get much downtime. Duty calls, and Sally has to answer for taking off without warning anyone except Mycroft, Greg, and Superintendent Malcolm. She informed the important parties, but not all of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin: Part 1  
> ::  
> Observant readers might recognize the blow-job, and you're not imagining things. I did borrow from the scene in "Know When You Are Beaten" for this, just changed names and details as necessary.

* * *

* * *

Sally didn’t hang about very long once she had recovered John Watson from their old childhood sanctuary in Coulter’s Wood, Glasgow, Scotland, and it was exactly 10:00pm as they pulled up to Baker Street. She parked the Rover on Allsop Place and got out. John had specifically requested that they return to 221B Baker Street, and had insisted that Sally stay the night with him. Tomorrow would be quite soon enough for them to part ways, and she had no intention of leaving him by himself again.

As John collected his backpack, Sally fired off a quick text to Greg and Mycroft. She had sent them a text as soon as she found John, as they were heading back to the hotel in Glasgow, and had promised another once they were safely back in London. John took her hand as he came up alongside her, the backpack over one shoulder.

“You’ll stay with me, won’t you, Sal?”

“Like Hell am I leaving you alone tonight.” She looked over at him as they headed up Allsop towards Baker Street, “You are not getting rid of me that easy, sir.”

“Good, because I don’t want to _be_ alone tonight. I mean, I could probably ask Greg, but I don’t want to deal with him right now.”

“You’ll have to deal with him sooner than later, though. You owe him a good explanation for that stunt.”

“So do _you_.”

“Oh, please. Both of my superiors, the ones who matter, knew where I was going, and Mycroft was the very first person I _called_ about the job.”

“Doesn’t mean you won’t have to explain yourself to someone.”

“I’ll worry about that when I have to. Right now, _you_ are my primary concern.” She put her arm around his waist as they came to 221B. Getting in was no problem, and they were careful not to make too much noise.

 

Of course, there was no such thing as sneaking past Mrs Hudson, and the _instant_ she heard the door and their footsteps, she appeared out of 221A in a flash.

“Oh!” She stopped, mildly alarmed to see Sally there. “Sally, you gave me a bit of a fright just now! Where did _you_ come from?”

“Hello, Mrs H. Brought you something.” She looked over her shoulder at John, who gave their landlady an embarrassed wave.

“Hello, Mrs H. Sorry about the trouble last week.”

“Oh! Oh, John Watson! You _scoundrel_!” Mrs Hudson set eyes on her absentee tenant and marched right up to him, fire in her eyes. Sally was sorely tempted to get between the two and settled for putting her arm across John’s chest. Any further intervention on her part would be met with violence, she wasn’t stupid, she recognized that gleam in Martha Hudson’s gaze. The sharp report of flesh meeting flesh sounded a bit more loudly than she’d thought it should as the flat of Mrs Hudson’s hand made brief but purposeful contact with John’s cheek. It was the very least he deserved for disappearing on all of them as he had. Sally knew why he’d gone to ground, had known _where_ almost as soon as she heard about it, but she didn’t think anyone else knew. At least, not yet.

“Where have you been, young man?!” The patient woman hissed. “You didn’t say a _word_ to me, Doctor Watson, not a peep! You didn’t even say goodbye! I didn’t know _where_ you’d gone or if you’d done yourself off out of grief!”

“I … wouldn’t do that, Mrs Hudson,” John said quietly, head bowed in shame. “I _thought_ about it, quite often in the past six months.”

“I know you have. How many times have I had to call Greg to come and get you before you pulled the trigger on yourself or did something else terrible to yourself because you … ”

“Mrs Hudson, please.” Sally reached out her other hand and touched the old woman’s arm.

“I’m sorry, John, but if anything happened to you, anything at all, I don’t know what I would do with myself!” Mrs Hudson shook her head, still furious and concerned, “I lost one son, John, please don’t break my heart again. Please?” 

“Mrs Hudson?” Sally and John looked at each other in alarm.

 

John had lived in Baker Street for almost a year and a half as of 17 July 2011, and it was very obvious that Mrs Hudson was extremely fond of her two tenants, but this was the first time she had ever outright stated that she had seen either of them as more than dear friends. Of course, she had always shown it in small ways, but she had never actually _said_ anything.

“I don’t have much in this world, much less anything I care enough about to get upset over losing it.” Mrs Hudson looked up at John, “But so God help me, John Watson, if you _ever_ pull that kind of idiot stunt again or even so much as _think_ about doing it, I will make you far more sorry than you would ever be otherwise.”

“I am _so_ sorry I worried you, Mrs Hudson. But it was just too much all at once.” John said tamely. He hadn’t moved at all as she practically tore him apart. Not that he didn’t _deserve_ it, of course, and better she do it than someone else. 

“Oh, I know that, my dear.” Her expression softened and she laid her hand on his cheek again, this time in love, and lifted his chin until she could see his eyes. “I know what it means that you disappeared on that precise day. The 29th is such a special day for you, isn’t it?”

“It’s … that was the day I first _met_ Sherlock, Mrs Hudson.” John tried to smile, but it was a sad smile. “Did you know, Mike Stamford introduced us?”

“I think you told me that once.” Mrs Hudson gave John a long hug, which he allowed without objection. She looked at Sally next, too relieved at John’s safe return to be terribly cross with her appearance in Baker Street.

“But I’m not sure if you ever told me how you and Sergeant Donovan know each other.” 

“I’m not sure if you would actually believe us, Mrs Hudson.” Sally knew the woman was still a bit sore on her for the whole Moriarty mess, but she could completely understand why.

“Oh, a bit of a story, is it?”

“Just a bit.”

“Well?”

“Tomorrow, Mrs Hudson?” John looked up the stairs to the empty flat he kept on his own, the rent paid for by Mycroft so he didn’t have to worry about being homeless. “We’ve been on the road since three and God knows we could both use a good night’s sleep before whatever comes tomorrow.”

“Oh, very well. But you two owe me the full story, it seems to be quite a long one. I would love to know where you found him, Sergeant, and how you even knew where to start looking when I know for good fact that both Greg Lestrade and Mycroft Holmes have been scouring the streets of London and calling everyone they can for help. I know Mycroft pulled in some of his people, for crying out loud!”

“I found him in Coutler’s Wood, Mrs Hudson, up in Glasgow.”

“Glasgow?” Mrs Hudson’s eyes narrowed and she looked from John to Sally. “What on _earth_ were you doing in Scotland, John?”

“We grew up together in Glasgow, Mrs Hudson, lived a mile and a half from each other until we were sixteen.”

“Oh, you did?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, what’s the rest of it?”

“The short version of it? We lost touch until 2001 and after that didn’t let each other out of sight until 2008.” Sally looked sideways at John, putting her arm around him again as he wavered on his feet. “Bad things tend to happen when I leave this idiot to his own devices. You think I’d know better by now.”

“Well, that’s not the whole of it, but it will have to do. You get upstairs and get to bed, John’s about to pass out right here.”

“See you in the morning, Mrs Hudson,” John said wearily. “Sorry to worry you like that.”

“Don’t do it again and we’ll call it even, John. Off you go.” She pointed the way upstairs to B and waited until Sally closed the door of B before returning to her flat. They heard the sound of the door closing a bit more loudly than probably necessary and Sally shared a smile with John.

 

Hanging their coats and taking off their boots, which they set against the wall, Sally took John’s backpack and the overnight bag and started a load of laundry. John busied himself building a fire in the fireplace to warm the flat up a bit more and then set about fixing tea. It added a sense of normalcy to things after the stress of the last six months, which was actually kind of nice.

“I can’t imagine you’ll be happy to show up at work in casual clothes tomorrow.” John mused as they sat in the sitting-room, John in Sherlock’s grey chair and Sally in John’s red chair. Sally made a face as she took a sip of her tea.

“What?” He hadn’t missed her expression.

“I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks of me if I show up tomorrow to work in denims.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one, it’s no one’s fucking business, and even if I do, Greg knows where I’ve been for the past twenty-four hours. Besides, it’s not like I haven’t shown up in casual clothes to work before.” She gave a nonchalant shrug. Sally really did not care what anyone thought if she showed up in denims and casual shirt tomorrow. In fact, she planned on doing just that to prove her indifference.

 

John just smiled at her over the rim of his own cup. He slid down a bit in the chair, stretched out, and gave his left foot a wiggle. She rolled her eyes at his cheekiness and snorted as he grinned at her, sliding the ball of his foot against her ankle.

“Brat.” She muttered and set down her cup, twitching her own foot to kick him away. With a slightly tipsy smile, John hooked his foot under the cuff of her jeans and pulled. Just a gentle tug against the fabric, a request.

“No! I have work tomorrow, it’s been a long day, and we are both too tired for anything.” She scolded, giving him a look.

“Aw, c’mon, Sal,” He cooed, doing it again. She’d forgotten that John could be a horny little bastard when he felt like it, this was apparently a “felt like it” moment.

“What is it, John?” She sighed and tilted her head. They were both quite sober, had been the first time earlier. She shifted forward until she was sitting right on the edge of her seat. Sally could lean over and touch John’s knee, they were just that close now. She started to slide off and reached out to brace herself with one hand on John’s right knee. She pushed herself back a little, then she and John looked down at her hand. Sally pulled it away and held both her hands out, shrugging.

“I don’t mind.” He said, voice low and husky, with a shrug to indicate that he was not bothered.

 

Sally, inspired by some impulse, shifted her weight forward again and this time slipped from the red chair completely. She didn’t miss the way his eyes widened when she dropped into a comfortable kneel at his feet. Without her having to say a word, he made room for her between his thighs. Encouraged, and feeling mischievous, Sally played a dirty trick and made use of her handcuffs to bind his hands up behind his back as they kissed. It wasn’t easy, but she managed.

“Cheat!” he hissed, tugging against the steel bracelets, “You play a dirty game, madam.”

“Did I ever say I played by the rules?” She grinned at him.

“You have a plan, then?”

“Simple one, really. You just let me take care of you.” Sally studied him from this angle, running her fingers along the inseam of his denims, taking note of the texture of the fabric against her skin. Even through several layers of fabric, she could smell him, feel him. It was familiar to her, and she smiled to herself as she breathed in a well-known scent.

 

She reached for the waistband of his trousers, loosening the belt and placket. That was done with her hands, she got creative with the zip-fly of his trousers. Sally dipped her head down and pulled the stiff zipper down with her teeth.

 

She heard the soft, sharp inhale as she tugged down on his trousers and pants just enough to free him for some playtime. She was right between his knees and had a chance to study and appreciate his very lovely cock, which was already stirring. She loved a chance to give it the kind of adoration it deserved. She shook her head and chuckled.

“Eager lad.” Sally murmured. She carefully pushed his pants and trousers down further until they caught around his ankles, noticing how they more or less served as restraints of their own kind. Without warning him, she got his legs over her shoulders and tipped him back a bit. The startled yelp was quickly muffled and if she hadn’t been busy with something far more interesting than his indignation, she would have laughed at him.

 

Finally, she reached the object of her mission and she smiled, leaning in to nuzzle the crease of hip and thigh, before moving further along and finding that sweet-spot at his perineum. Oh, the noise he made when she kissed right there was beautiful. Sally chuckled and leaned in to explore every glorious inch, cataloguing taste, texture, and size, licking a broad stripe from the quivering pucker of his very lovely arse to the tip of his equally lovely, equally twitchy member. She maintained eye contact as she ran her tongue around the head. She wrapped one of her hands around the base and gave a stroke before she leaned forward to press a kiss to the soft, hot flesh as she reached down to fondle his balls, which were not quite heavy but a pleasant weight in her palm and a delicious handful.

 

Sally followed that up with an honest attempt to deep-throat her gobsmacked partner. Wetting her lips with her tongue, she looked up at him and smiled before closing her lips carefully around the length sitting at attention, waiting for any attention to be lavished on it. John’s hips twitched eagerly as she worked his hard cock. She slid her tongue along a prominent vein on the underside, eliciting a low guttural moan from John as she played with the frenulum a bit and teased at the slit.

 

It wasn’t that oral sex was her favourite thing or something she did often, but she loved foreplay for it and exploring her partner’s most intimate of intimates like this. And she happened to be rather good at it, so that didn’t hurt at all either. This was taking apart a man one piece at a time and laying his soul bare to the world. Oh, the noises were downright scandalous! Lovely, lovely, absolutely fantastic. Sally pulled off long enough to look up at his face and raised an eyebrow.

“Quiet, sweetheart.” She murmured, nuzzling his thigh, “Don’t want all of London to hear, do we?”

“Bollocks all of London! What are you doing?”

“Something I am rather good at but don’t do very often.” She pressed a kiss to the flushed tip, “Please don’t ask me to stop.”

“Please don’t stop!” He huffed.

“Then be quiet. If I have to, I will gag you.” Sally grinned up at him, “You lovely, ruined thing. My fault?”

“Completely!”

“I’d apologise, but that would be lying.” She leaned up and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. “Not a word out of you, my dear,” John whined, whimpered even, as she got back to her original goal. She took just the head into her mouth, suckling on it for a bit. He thrashed and whined, and she rolled her eyes as she pinned his legs in place over her shoulders before going down on him and deep-throating him. If he hadn’t gagged himself with a fold of his shirt, neighbours would have heard him scream. She chuckled and set to work seeing how far she could push.

 

A familiar, long-missed saltiness flooded over her tongue after a while, and she carefully pulled back as his left leg slipped from her shoulder.

“You alright, love?” She asked of her wrecked lover. He nodded frantically, chest heaving. She smiled.

“How do you want me to finish you off, then, Captain?” She whispered. John groaned, a long, deep, pained sound as she rubbed his chest.

“Finish me off indeed! You sly little minx!” He gasped, “Have mercy, woman!”

“Then I’ll do this properly.” She dropped a quick peck on his lips and went back down to finish what she’d started. Sally smacked her lips appreciatively.

“Lovely, lovely man. All mine for taking.”

“Jesus Fucking Christ.” He breathed as she went right back to business. It sounded like he was reciting the names of every saint ever recorded, in alphabetical order. Sally hummed, causing him to gasp and his hips to stutter. She had him secure, she was in no danger of being kicked or choked as she carefully pulled him to that edge and over into climactic bliss.

“Sally!” He gasped, “Sally!” Something muffled his hoarse yell as his climax thundered through him like a tidal wave and she was pleased to take every last drop.

 

As soon as he began to soften, she licked him clean and got carefully to her feet. Once in the loo, she brushed her teeth and rinsed with mouthwash before fetching up a couple of warm, damp flannels to clean up. She heard John moving around in the bedroom and smiled as she discarded her clothes into the hamper. Going out to the bedroom, she found him laying on the massive king bed, stark naked and relaxed. His clothes were dumped in a pile by the bed itself, and his eyes were closed with one hand resting on his chest. Sally sat on the bed next to him and touched his shoulder to get her friend’s attention. The hand on John’s chest shifted and closed around her wrist, the only indication of awareness. She was careful with her clean-up and tossed aside the soiled flannels. Sally rubbed along twitching muscles, soothing out the last bits of that endorphin rush, paying special attention to his knees and thighs. She wiped him down again with a cool cloth, laying a clean, damp folded flannel over his face, carefully tracking his come-down with two fingers pressed to his wrist.

 

After a while, he tugged against her grip and she raised her head.

“Finally back with the living souls?” She watched him. He pushed the cloth on his face up enough to look at her and grinned. It was a loopy, cocky smile.

“You, my darling, are a wonder. What on earth did I ever do to deserve that kind of treatment?”

“Well, it might have had a bit to do with your pushy nature in the sitting-room a minute ago.” Sally smiled and lay alongside him. There was a soft, slightly wet sort of “splat” as John tossed the wet cloth that had lain across his eyes and he reached over her to pull the blankets up over the both of them. It was time to finally sleep, and await the light of morning.

“I apologize for absolutely _nothing_.” He murmured, resting that same arm around her and tugging a bit. He kissed her on the cheek, his beard scratching softly against her skin. Sally couldn’t help herself and giggled at the ticklish sensation.

“Stop that, or we’ll never get any sleep and God help us both if I show up at work tomorrow covered in bruises and bite-marks.”

“Oh, I don’t leave _visible_ marks, love.” He chided, nuzzling one of the fading marks left from their afternoon’s engagements. It would be mostly concealed by her clothes, but an observant eye would have no trouble making it out.

“Bollocks.” Sally chuckled and leaned her head back. “Goodnight, John Watson.”

“Goodnight, Sally Donovan,” John whispered, kissing her on the shoulder. It got quiet in the room, lit only from the streetlamps outside, and Sally fell asleep in John’s arms for the second time that day.

* * *

* * *

 


	10. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sally return to London. But they don't get much downtime. Duty calls, and Sally has to answer for taking off without warning anyone except Mycroft, Greg, and Superintendent Malcolm. She informed the important parties, but not all of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin: Part 2

* * *

* * *

Luck was only with the inhabitants of 221B Baker Street that night until Sally’s phone rang at 3.15am. She was buried under the blankets when she heard it and groaned. But before she could move more than a finger, John stirred next to her and reached over her to get her phone before it rang to voicemail.

“It’s Greg.” He murmured, settling back.

“Tell him to fuck off.” She muttered, pulling the covers up over her head.

“I don’t think I’ll do _that_ , love.” John chuckled and answered her phone. The conversation was short and John poked her in the shoulder.

“What?”

“He wants to talk to you.”

“Fine.” She surfaced and reached for her phone. “Hand it here.” John dutifully put it in her hand and she put it to her ear.

_“Sally?”_

_“What’s up, Boss? It’s barely gone three.”_ She rubbed her forehead she buried her face in the pillow. It was usually pretty damn important if Greg was dragging her out of bed this early.

_“_ _Sorry to knock you up so early, but we’ve got another one.”_

_“Well, that figures. Any idea what we’re up against, Boss?”_ She sighed and propped herself up on one arm as John leaned against her shoulder, reaching over to put the call on speaker. She gave him a look, but she didn’t really care. Her work was his work, there really were no two ways around it. They listened together as Greg gave her what little he had and as she promised to be there as soon as was reasonable at this hour of the morning, John was already up and moving about the room.

 

No sooner had she hung up and tossed her phone aside than he tossed some clean clothes at her as he disappeared down the hall towards the kitchen, already dressed. Sally sighed and got dressed in automatic motions, pulling her hair back into a messy updo as she passed through the kitchen after stopping in the bathroom. John handed her a cup of coffee and a biscuit, which she took a sip of before shoving the biscuit into her mouth as she went hunting for her boots and gear. As she sat down to tie on her boots, she heard John chuckle at her attitude this morning and calmly flipped him off with one hand.

“Oh, you don’t mean that, love.” He said sweetly, disappearing back towards the bedroom to get something. In no time at all, he was back with his shoes, his gun, and Sally’s duty-belt.

“Oh, ta.” She took the belt from him as she finished tying her boots and stood up.

“What makes you think you’re coming along?” she asked as she held the door for him once they were both ready.

“Because I’m coming whether your teammates like it or not.”

“Your funeral.” She shrugged and followed him downstairs. They left the house without disturbing Mrs Hudson, who would probably have plenty to say about it if they _had_ managed to wake her, and walked quietly from the house to where they’d left the car last night. Sally didn’t miss John holding her door for her before going around to get in on the other side as she started the engine.

“So, where are we going?”

“Camberwell. Greg did say it was driver’s discretion for lights.” She looked briefly at John, who was wide awake and grinning despite the ridiculous hour. This was normal for him, and he thrived on this sort of thing.

“Oh, could we, Sally? Please, can we?” As if he had to beg too hard.  Sally smirked and in no time at all, her blues-and-twos had broken the early-morning quiet of the neighbourhood. 

 

There was very little traffic at this hour, little enough to be of any consequence, and they were driving under the tape-line fifteen minutes later. No one said anything about John being there or just kept their mouths shut if they thought anything of it. Well, no one except Anderson.

“What is _he_ doing here?” He ex sneered, “This is Met business.”

“And he is none of _your_ business, Anderson.” Sally brushed past him, refusing to make eye contact with him. “I’ll be happy to tell Lestrade that you can’t take a hint.”

“What, is that supposed to scare me?”

“Oh, it’s not just Lestrade I’ll tell if you talk to me again. I’m obligated to tell _all_ of my superiors, Anderson.” She turned on Anderson, “That means Malcolm will be hearing of this, and I have to go to Mycroft Holmes.” Well, that seemed to work. Anderson turned quite pale and watched her walk away from him. As they escaped earshot, John snickered.

“Don’t tell me Anderson is still giving you trouble.”

“Oh, he absolutely is still giving me trouble.” She rolled her eyes and took his hand in hers. “Mycroft told me to let him know if Anderson caused any more trouble.”

“You don’t suppose Mycroft could possibly lose Anderson his job, do you? As a favour?”

“He’d be more than happy to,” Sally promised herself she would send a text or an email to Mycroft as soon as she had a minute if she didn’t just call him outright. When they found Greg, he was staring at red double-decker bus and seemed awfully glad to see them both.

“You go man the line, Sal. I’m stealing your boyfriend, he knows a bit more about dead bodies than most of the people here.” He said in a calm, matter-of-fact way. Sally and John looked at each other and then at Greg.

“Oh, we’re not ... ”

“Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourselves you’re not.” He rolled his eyes at them as they went quiet, their expressions identical. “I don’t know anyone in a platonic relationship who would go AWOL the way you two have for each other. Now, you two have work to do, get going.”

“Er, yes, sir.” They said. He moved away out of earshot and Sally looked at John, who stood with his hands behind his back, head down, shuffling at the stained, pitted concrete.

“Well, you heard the man.”

“See what you can make of it, I’ll be at the line.” She said, taking his hand. “I’m sorry I pulled you out of bed so early for a job like this.”

“Don’t apologize, I’m used to it.” John looked up at her and smiled. “I love this kind of thing, and really, I’ve missed it these last few months.”

“Well, still.” Sally looked past him to where she could see her boss hovering impatiently. “Also, I’m not actually sure. Are we dating?”

“Not yet, we’re not.” John rocked forward a bit, his smile widening into something a bit dangerous for the early hour.

“Let’s not give my co-workers gossip-fodder, shall we?”

“Oh, they’re not paying attention, and no matter if they are. I want to pick on Greg a little bit.”

“You’re awful,” Sally said quietly, unconsciously leaning towards John as he closed the bit of distance still between them.

“May I, Sergeant?”

“Yes, absolutely.” She breathed, knowing she would never hear the end of it from Greg. But as John kissed her in full view of Greg and anyone else who _might_ be watching, she didn’t quite care as much as she should. As she walked away from John and Greg, a bit dizzy, she very clearly heard Greg ribbing him for that kiss.

“Bull _shit_ you’re not!” He snickered.

“Dead body, Greg? Work to do?”

“Oh, you can’t throw me off the scent so easy, sonny!” Greg cackled but gave John a break. Really, there was plenty of work to be done and as much fun as it was to tease them, there was always a time and place. This wasn’t really either of those. Sally could be forgiven if she took her station by the primary line wearing a smug, content smile. No one said anything, they were smarter than that. Those who weren’t were hushed by their wiser co-workers, but that didn’t stop people from giving her looks. More than a couple gave her a wink or a thumbs up, so clearly they didn’t actually care much that she was more or less involved with John Watson.

* * *

* * *

 


	11. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sally return to London. But they don't get much downtime. Duty calls, and Sally has to answer for taking off without warning anyone except Mycroft, Greg, and Superintendent Malcolm. She informed the important parties, but not all of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin: Part 3

* * *

* * *

The case kept them busy for three days, and it was as they were getting their suspect in handcuffs that Sally’s phone chimed with a text-alert. She had learned her lesson about ignoring text-messages, so with one hand on the suspect to keep him from trying to make an ill-advised run for it, she fetched her phone out of her pocket. It was a very short, very precise text-message, and she couldn’t help a reflexive swallow of apprehension.

 

**Message Sent 13.45**

**44 Eaton Square. Come immediately.**

Sally looked around quickly and tried to think of where she was right now in relation to 44 Eaton Square.

“Are you alright, Sergeant?” A nearby constable had come up alongside.

“Ripley.” Sally looked at the young woman, “Where are we?”

“Belgravia, ma’am, 33 Eaton Terrace.”

“Oh, good.” Sally heaved a sigh of muted relief. “Hey, Greg!”

“Yeah?” Her boss turned from the phone-call he was on and she waved her own phone at him.

“Gotta go!”

“We can handle this, you helped with the hard bit!” He waved her off. He didn’t have to ask, he knew. She only walked away from an active case like this for a few reasons.

“What’s on, Sergeant?” Michaela Ripley asked curiously.

“Got somewhere else to be, Constable. If you can hang onto our mister until Lestrade’s off his call.”

“I’ll get him into my car, then, ma’am. Good luck?”

“Yeah, I’ll need that.” She sighed and patted Ripley on the shoulder. The girl showed great promise and Sally hoped she would have a long career.

 

Sally debated driving, but she hesitated as she palmed her keys. She knew just from the tone of that text-message that she was in serious trouble, it hadn’t even been signed, and Madame wasn’t going to make this easy on her. It went without saying that it wouldn’t help matters if Sally drove to 44 Eaton Square, so it was with a sense of resignation that she switched off her radio and put both it and her side-arm in the glove-box. Locking her car once she had done that, Sally pocketed her keys and set off for her destination.

 

It took her five minutes to get to her destination, and it was with a deep sense of dread and resignation alike that she knocked on the door. Kate opened the door to her, let her in, and took her coat without speaking a word. She pointed the way upstairs and Sally climbed the stairs quietly. She would face this head-on, take her punishment without complaint. She didn’t deserve to complain, after all. A quick stop in the loo and she reported to the playroom. There was no sign of Madame, but she knew how to wait. Removing her clothes and folding them aside, she knelt in her usual place, head bowed and hands resting in her lap. Something told Sally she would be here for a while, and that was fine with her.

 

Sally waited for what felt like hours, she had taken off her watch so she couldn’t read the time, before she heard the sharp click of Madame’s heels on the stairs coming up and approaching the room, passing by just for the moment. The door opened slowly a few minutes later, and she remained absolutely still as it closed again, the lock setting with a loud click. This was it, the moment of truth. She took a deep breath and listened as Madame approached.

“Sergeant, I have one expectation for handling my property. It’s to handle it with respect.”

“Yes, Madame.”

“Running off to Scotland without back up is not proper handling of what’s mine. It was not a work related issue. It was not authorized by Mr Holmes. What do you have to say?”

“May I speak freely, Madame?” She didn’t raise her head, but she had to have a chance to explain herself.

“You may speak. You will explain yourself and I will decide on your punishment accordingly.” Madame was very upset, but Sally couldn’t blame her. Someone had told her about the trip to Glasgow, or she had found out some other way, but Madame didn’t have all the facts. Sally would be happy to give her all of the facts, to explain herself, and she had been granted the chance to do so. Taking a minute to focus herself, Sally raised her eyes.

“Your intelligence regarding my trip to Glasgow,  Scotland, is incomplete, Madame, possibly incorrect. Have you _spoken_ to Mr Holmes?”

“Briefly.”

“I do not know how you came to the conclusion that it was either unrelated to my job with The Met or unauthorized by Mr Holmes, but both of those assumptions were … false, Madame.”

“False?”

“Yes, Madame.” Sally refused to flinch. “I travelled to Glasgow, Scotland four days ago on behalf of a missing-person case that had occupied Inspector Lestrade for the five days previous. I was given the necessary resources to do so by Mr Holmes and the time to do so by my Met superiors.”

“Who, exactly, knew where you were going and why?”

“Mr Holmes, who was the only person outside of The Met I reached out to for resources to get me to Scotland, Detective Inspector Lestrade, and Detective Superintendent Malcolm.”

“And you had clearance to take on this endeavour?”

“Yes, Madame. Malcolm informed me of the case and I spoke to Lestrade on the matter. Then I made my own arrangements as necessary and drove from London to Glasgow that same night, the night of 10 February.”

“That was a Friday, I believe.”

“Yes, Madame. Upon arriving in Glasgow early the morning of the 11th, I stayed in a hotel as arranged for me by Mr Holmes, who also supplied the car I drove and the necessary luggage requirements for my stay.”

“And you returned to London when?”

“I was back in London by ten o’clock in the evening the same day I arrived in Glasgow, Madame. My mission was quickly accomplished and I was leaving my hotel again no later than three o’clock.”

“In the interest of full disclosure, as I realize I do _not_ have all of the facts before me, what happened that you were so inspired to make a seven-hour drive with next to no notice?”

“John Watson had been missing since the 29th of January, Madame, and it had been five days since anyone had seen him. Anywhere.” Sally finally looked up properly. “Lestrade had a whole Evidence Wall for it, Madame.”

“Ah. I see.”

“And when I realized the exact date he had _gone_ missing, and the significance therein, I knew there were only a very few places John would go.”

“And you knew where to look for him because you were children together. You were neighbours in Glasgow?”

“Yes, ma’am. And I used that knowledge to find him.”

“Was he violent with you?”

“No, Madame. He never hurt me, not out of malice or out of grief.”

“You could have been injured had Captain Watson not taken your presence as well as he did. He held you in blame for much of what happened last July, yet he seems to have forgiven you.”

“Yes, Madame.”

“Is there anything else you wish to say?”

“No, Madame.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes, Madame. I’ve told you everything.”

“Hmm.” Madame’s eyes narrowed. “Well, I understand your motive, but your actions must not go unpunished. Do not ever undertake an exercise of that sort again without more thorough, careful planning. Recklessness rarely ends well.”

“Yes, Madame. I understand.” Sally bowed her head again. She wasn’t expecting to get away with a slap on the wrist, not after what she had done. Madame decided that she had done enough kneeling, three hours of it in fact, and settled on a bit of corporal punishment. Sally had to pick the instrument of her discipline and carry it back to Madame in her teeth, and then take a lashing without making a sound. She had three toys to choose from: a thin, flexible, bamboo cane; a six-tailed leather flogger with fork-tongued falls; or a riding crop.

“Ten strokes with the cane, twenty with the flogger or crop. Choose wisely.” Madame said as she pointed to the low table on which the three items had been laid out. “And you must not make a sound. If you cry out or flinch, that is two lashes and a gag to keep you quiet.” Sally made her way on hands and knees to the table and selected the cane. It might hurt more, differently from the flogger or crop, but she was willing to attempt ten lashes of that in silence plus whatever she received for crying out or flinching. There was also a gag on the table, and Sally really did hope she wouldn’t be needing that. Once she had presented the cane to Madame, she was put in handcuffs, _her_ handcuffs, blindfolded, and restrained face-down on a bench with her hips and arse elevated. She felt vulnerable and exposed, the way it should be for her.

 

Madame tapped her on the hip with the cane and she braced for the first of ten blows. Sally didn’t know when it would land or where and did her best not to flinch. The first landed on her flank, stinging but not unbearable, but that was the last of the “gentle” blows. She endured fourteen lashes for flinching twice and crying out twice, and her wrists were red and irritated from pulling on her restraints. But Madame took care of her once her punishment had been fulfilled, putting a cooling balm on the welts and wrapping her wrists in silk.

“You did so well, my dear, such a good girl,” Madame said quietly as she tended to Sally. “You understand why I must do this?”

“Yes, Madame,” Sally whispered, hoarse from keeping quiet and a few shed tears. “I am so sorry.”

“Do not run off on a whim, do not try to be a hero, it rarely ends so well as your recent excursion did.” Madame shook her head, “You are fortunate Captain Watson wanted anything to do with you.”

“I know, Madame. I thought he would turn me away, berate me for taking any part of Sherlock’s downfall. But he .... he didn’t. He was happy to see me, relieved.” She closed her eyes, “He was a little surprised, but admitted that he figured someone would be able to work out where he’d gone and come get him before he tried anything extreme.”

“And you did. You knew how and where to find him.” Madame smiled. “Good girl.”

“Thank you, Madame.” Sally relaxed, knowing the worst was behind her.

 

When Sally left 44 Eaton Square three and a half hours after she arrived there, the scene at 33 Eaton Terrace had been shut down, so she retrieved her car, returned to the office, and went looking for Greg. Who took one look at her and just knew. He knew about Sally’s arrangement with Madame, one of the only people who did.

“You alright, Sal?” He studied her, one eyebrow raised.

“I’ll be sore as hell, later, but it’s all good.” She sighed. “Teach me to go running off to Scotland willy-nilly.”

“You think Mycroft told her?”

“I know he did, but I get the feeling she might have hung up on him before he could explain that I didn’t run off completely unprepared.” She shrugged, “Anyway, what needs doing around here?”

“Get started on your reports, I have a suspect to talk to.”

“Sounds good to me, Boss.” Sally nodded and left him to his duties. Getting back to her office, she got to work on the reports for this latest case and ignored Anderson. Business as usual, and she was fine with that. Sally was just glad there was little evidence of what she’d been up to. If anyone thought much of the fact that she walked a little funny, it could be chalked up to running after their suspect before getting him in handcuffs, and the more visible signs were concealed by her clothes. 

* * *

* * *

 


End file.
